Lost in Sherlock
by 42believer
Summary: I sighed. "You know, all I wanted was to get this blanket here and shove it down my mouth. How dare you ruin my oh so elegant attempt at suicide." Rated T for language. Eventual Sherlock/OC with heavy emphasis on the 'even', 'tu', and 'al' portions of that word. Chapter 26: STILL NO ROMANCE YET
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I cursed Netflix for the fifth time watching it as the little buffer bar at the bottom of the screen stagnated after loading approximately one fourth of the way through. I sometimes fantasized about renaming my Wii "little bitch" due to all the continuing frustrations the wifi was keen on perpetuating. If I could just finish my programme, then I would move on to better pursuits of my time, like filling out college applications or job applications or paying bills. You know, stuff normal people are supposed to do, not obsess over fictional characters in a fictional universe going about there fictional lives. But honestly it seemed hell of a lot more interesting then living in a shifty apartment. And who can deny the desire to indulge in such a way? But enough of my musings the little bar has graced me by disappearing from the screen, and at present I must resume watching.

I wrapped my red robe tighter around myself and sank deeper into my couch, watching as Sherlock raised a pill to his lips with a challenging look in his eye, and even though I knew what would happen next my heart still beat erratically, almost as if I was there in person watching and the event were happening right before my very eyes. I chewed on my nails absentmindedly, scraping the chipped polish off my fingertips to reveal a the nail beneath them. The show just kept me in suspense, holding up spectacularly well. There are some shows you only need to see once, or should only see once, because after that first time you know everything that's going to happen and the second time round just won't be as entertaining. Sherlock on the other hand, was a different story. Sherlock was less like a TV series and more like a movie that just happened to have really great, awesome, and entertaining sequels. It didn't matter if you watched them ten times or not because they still intrigued you as you discovered new ways to love the characters or understand the subtle nuances of certain scenes. At least I thought so hence my current state of procrastination.

"That a boy John," I said to myself as he shot the serial killer. "You're such a good friend. If I had a friend like you," I said, brandishing a spoon at the TV, "maybe life would feel a little less chaotic sometimes." I dug into a bin of ice cream, coveting the sweet taste as the substance collided with my taste buds. This was another comfort I indulged in often. I smirked as I saw John's face make that ridiculous expression of surprise, trying and failing not to giggle as he realized Mycroft's true nature. I loved the exchanges between Mycroft an Sherlock. They were the epitome of sibling rivalry.

I leaned my head against the armrest of my sofa as the credits rolled by, listening to the familiar cadence of the theme music as I did so. I glanced over at my desk, a not large but neither small stack of papers laying in wait for me. My face grimaced, and I glanced back at my coffee table where the remote sat, just begging to be pointed at the screen and used to watch yet another episode of Sherlock. I felt quite in the mood for a marathon.

"Make it so Number 1!" I shouted at the television, mashing the buttons on my remote unceremoniously. It responded by buffering once again. Slowly. Too slowly. I laid on the couch in protest, knowing the second I moved that it would fundraising and I would have to rush back in and paused it before something important happened. I stared my Wii down, glaring at the white game system quite unabashedly. Then I realized I needed the bathroom and sighed, resigning to the cruel truth of the situation: I would have to get up.

Standing up, I made my way to the bathroom groggily, groaning at the state of my hair in the mirror. It was like a huge brown bird's nest of unkemptness that made me grab a hairbrush sulkily and untangle all the knots, wincing at the occasional pain. If only life were more exciting then this. I wished I could just jump into the world of Sherlock Holmes and be lost in the logic and danger of it all. Everything here was just undeniably boring. I wanted the thrill, the adventure, the excitement. "I want to know what it's like being in the world of Sherlock Holmes," I murmured to myself, getting off the toilet and washing my hands. I heard familiar voices floating in from the other room and quickly dried off my hands, realizing the buffer must have finished. My feet stumbled over themselves as I turned about and opened the door, eager to return to my programme. And I did, just not in the way that I would have expected and or wanted.

I heard the first few words of conversation, not even registering the change of surroundings, until I walked in on them, my faithful yet ever constants companions that should only exist on the screen.

"Because I had _row, _in the shop, with the chip and pin machine." This was the start of the second episode, the one I had just queued up on my Netflix account.

"Y... You had a row with a machine?" This wasn't happening. This couldn't be real. There was no way I was suddenly in my favorite BBC television show! I mean, look at that sentence. It sounds crazy right?

"Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?" John, or should I say Martin Freeman, was absolutely perfect down to the detail.

"Take my card." Sherlock, or should I say Benedict Cumberbatch, gestured his head to the right slightly.

My eyebrows raised themselves high on my forehead as I tried to process the impossibility that had just presented itself before my eyes. There Benedict Cumberbatch was sitting looking all regal while reading a book (that's the part of him I loved/hated the most, his innate ability to look majestic no matter what he did), and there stood Martin Freeman, all dependable and trustworthy just like he should be. And there I was, hallucinating like I had poured acid hot fudge over my ice cream before I ate it. And it was then that they actually noticed me, Martin doing a double take and Benedict closing the novel and getting to his feet, scrutinizing my every move.

"Sherlock who is this?" John asked his flatmate.

"I haven't the faintest idea. Yet." He took a step closer, and for a moment I felt intimidated. He was a lot taller in person.

"You know, I'm just going to head back to the bathroom and never tell anyone how crazy I am. Cool? Cool." I turned heel and ran back into the bathroom, which turned out to no longer be a bathroom but a closet as I entered it and shut the door behind me quickly. I needed to wake up. I was obviously dreaming on the sofa after passing out from some sort of sugar frenzy. Everything would be fine, and in a few seconds I would wake up and be back at home in my small and crappy apartment living my dull and slow life. Just a few more seconds...

"Sorry to interrupt whatever business you have with our umbrellas, but your presence is required elsewhere." A firm arm grabbed me and pulled me out of the closet. My eyes had closed themselves when I hid in the closet and remained a such while I was dragged to a chair. I didn't resist, trying best not to scare myself. It was only a dream after all. No reason getting all worked up over it, right?

Someone snapped their fingers right in front of my face. "Come on, open up." It was Benedict, his deep voice penetration my calm and making me jump a little. "No use trying to hide in their, now open your eyes."

"Sherlock, be a little more gentle." I heard Martin's voice and briefly praised him for coming to my defense. He just sounded so damn loyal and wise. It was in such contrast to his fellow actor whose words were so jarring and harsh you almost wanted to cry at his cruelty.

"A strange girl breaks into our flat and you want me to be gentle?" I felt hands touch my face and I tried to jerk away,but they were strong. Fingers pried my eyelids open slowly. "Who are you working for?" I tried not to look at him but he shook my head. "Did Mycroft send you? Are you here to spy on me? Was it Moriarty?" I didn't answer  
and began to cry instead. "Tell me!"

"Sherlock, that's enough." John walked over and placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "If she is spying on us, chances are slim that she'd walk into our flat wearing sleep clothes." I felt his hands release my head and I shuddered momentarily. "Now, my name is John Watson. What's your name?"

"Helen," I said wiping away my tears. "Do you have a tissue?" My nose had become runny from my crying,and I ha begun sniffling terribly.

"Sure, Sherlock fetch me one, will you?" His friend scowled and retrieved the requested item. John handed it to me and I immediately blew hard, releasing all the pent up mucus that had stored itself in my nostrils. "Better?" He asked.

"Much better, thanks," I replied, smiling for the first time since I had arrived. Sherlock rolled his eyes and plucked the tissue out of my hand.

"I'll need to test your DNA from this sample. Thank you so much for providing me with the key to your undoing." He placed it in a plastic bag and sealed it tight, placing it above the mantle for safe keeping. "Now," he said, returning to loom over me intently. "Why did you break into our flat?"

"What he means to ask is, how did you end up here?" John looked at me encouragingly, so I cleared my throat to answer.

"I was laying on my couch at home when I got up to go to the bathroom," I began. "And when I left the bathroom, I ended up in your hallway." I sat there stupidly, not knowing what to say next.

"Where's you're ice cream?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

"Beg pardon?" I responded.

"Ice cream. That is what it's called isn't it? There's a stain on your right sleeve, fresh, and it also suggests you're right handed." He moved closer. "Your hair has been recently brushed but judging from the lack of makeup or other signs of morning preparation, I guess that it was simply the sight of your own bed head that prompted your recent grooming. The traces of nail polish suggest that you used to put forth more effort into maintaining appearances, but whatever that motivator was has vanished. Either you've recently lost your job or you've had a rather nasty breakup. My money's on the latter; no need to primp for date night anymore. This is also compounded by the fact that you are not wearing a bra, suggesting a certain amount of looseness on your part. You like coffee, but only with cream and sugar. In short, you're a pushover. More then likely he initiated the breakup and was likely cheating on you at the time. Recently you've spent a good deal of time laying down in that robe. One side the fabric is slightly compressed down while the other half is covered with small gray fibers, most likely from a wool blanket. But that still doesn't answer my question. Why are you in our apartment?" His eyes bored into mine, and it seemed there was not a trace of mercy in them.

He was different then the Sherlock I thought I knew. The Sherlock Holmes I knew wasn't scary. He was smart yes. Intelligence was second nature to him. He was definitely motivated, a man of science through and through. His determination was unyielding. But this man who towered before me was not the man I recognized him to be. This wasn't my dream Sherlock, oh no. He was cold, and worst of all, manipulative. So I answered back the way my dream Sherlock would want me too.

"Well if you were wondering, yes I've been lying down on the couch a lot lately and eating load of ice cream while watching inordinate amounts of television. You got that part right, but what you didn't get right is that I've been depressed lately because my boyfriend just died in a car accident. So yeah, I haven't been motivated to put effort in myself because right now I'm too busy grieving you sick bastard. And if you want to know why I'm in your flat, maybe it's because you haven't fucking let me leave yet!" I didn't realize until just then, but I had gotten to my feet and was now standing toe to toe with him, staring right back into the depths of his unflinching gaze.

* * *

Yes this is an OC story where the OC magically falls into the universe of Sherlock. No, it won't be some fanfic where Sherlock sees her mysteriousness and goes I luuurve you let's have sex. Because I've seen that happen before. That is not going to happen in this story. At least not like that. If you want the truth, I was inspired to do this story after watching the BBC miniseries _Lost in Austen,_ which is basically what I'll be doing but in TV form. So there. Doing a fanfic of a BBC show inspired from another BBC show inspired from a book.

If you liked this and want to see more, drop me a review. If you do drop me a review and/or save this story to your alerts and/or favorites, that will make me even happier and more likely to write the next chapter. If you feel like I'm taking to long to update this story, then feel free to friend me on facebook and bug me about it there. The link is in my profile.

And BTW, I am a huge supporter of Johnlock, just not in this story. Got it? Good. Byeeeeee!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"John," Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off of me. "Go take care of the shopping. I still have a few more questions for Helen." He cocked his head to the side an imperceptible amount.

"I'm not sure that's the best idea," his friend responded. "We should call Lestrade and have him talk to her. I'm sure there's a logical explanation for all of this and we should consult Scotland yard before we take any further action." His words fell on deaf ears as we continued our staring match, both of us trying to piss off the other.

"What a preposterous thing to say," I piped up, not breaking off the game. "There is no logical explanation for this. Weren't you listening to what I said earlier?" Out of the corner of my eye I saw his confusion, causing me to sigh a little. "I told you that I walked out of my bathroom and into your apartment. Unless you've had a tenant  
that happened to have an adjoining bathroom to yours and never noticed they were there before, then something must be distinctly off."

"Alright, whatever." John put his hand up in frustration. "Just don't do any experiments on her Sherlock. I'll be back in bit. Maybe with her here you'll actually do something besides sit there and read your book. Why don't you do the shopping anyway?"

"Right now it's because something more interesting has come up." Sherlock broke off the game momentarily and glanced at his friend.

"That reminds me, what did happen with that case you were offered, the diamond one?" He bustled around the kitchen in search of the card, tracing a scratch on the table made from the sword that was currently under Sherlock's chair. The one he didn't know about. I glanced at it briefly. It was still sticking out, as my "arrival" seemed to have distracted Sherlock from pushing it out of sight.

"Not interested." His voice made me look around and as I turned my head I saw he was staring at me once more. Damn. I hoped he didn't notice that I had seen it. But that was a pipe dream; he noticed everything. I really needed to keep a low profile around him. "I sent them a message." The inflection on his words seemed indirectly  
directed at me. Shit. He had noticed.

John collected the card and left promptly, unaware of the atmosphere in the room. I suppressed a shudder, having never felt so scrutinized in all my life. Well, that and because I was cold.

"Can I have a blanket?" I asked innocently. His eyes raked me over and probably noted the goose bumps on my skin.

"I've never made a habit out of treating the people I interrogate with kindness. I find such behaviour diminishes the likelihood of success in discovering the motives of the interrogated person in question." He backed up from me and pulled the sword out from under his chair. When I said nothing, he held it up and gave it an appraising look. "This is very ineffective sword." He balanced it near the hilt, demonstrating  
what I guess was it's actual lack thereof.

"Well I already knew it was ineffective," I said.

"And how would you know something like that," he asked, a look of smug disbelief across his face.

"Well, because it failed to kill you." I felt rather impressed with myself for making that conclusion. Although knowing what happened beforehand didn't exactly hinder me from making that conclusion earlier.

"Whether or not it succeeded in killing me does not determine it's effectiveness," he shot back, fingering the blade lightly. "That task falls upon the executioner. He should be able to kill me with anything. The fact that he failed with a blade only means he was ineffective, not necessarily his weapon." The corner of his mouth curled into a smile. "The real question is, how did you know it was there." He phrased it not as an actual question, but more like a quandary.

"I didn't," I responded quickly. Perhaps too quickly. Either way he ignored it.

He began pacing at which I rolled my eyes. Here he was, trying to pick me apart like I was some complicated puzzle when all I really was, was dreaming. That's right. This was a dream. I could do whatever I bloody well pleased. Right now, I was after a blanket. My eyes traveled over the room and spotted one hanging over a chair. I went to retrieve it when my path suddenly became blocked by the sword.

I sighed. "You know, all I wanted was to get this blanket here and shove it down my mouth. How dare you ruin my oh so elegant attempt at suicide." I tried to reach for it again but he flipped the sword around and smacked my hand with the hilt.

"As I have already explained, I do not see reason in catering to those I am interrogating."

"That would make sense, except I was catering myself. Also, you were not interrogating me in the slightest, unless you call unsociable and taciturn behaviour a rather poor imitation of the meaner half of the good-cop, bad-cop routine." I glared at him, and he eventually drew the sword away. "Thank you." I seized the blanket and flopped into the chair, wrapping the covering around my body.

He resumed pacing and shot me a glance every now and again. I thought about being self-conscious, but dismissed it as silly. No need to act nervous when none of it mattered anyway. What a waste of a good dream.

"How did you do it?" He threw his hands up in frustration. "There is only one window you could have entered from and your waist is far too large to have fit through it." I threw him a dirty look which he disregarded. He ran his fingers through his hair. "There must be something I'm missing!"

"Whatever," I muttered. I thought back to what happened in the episode. "You should check your email. Something important might have happened." I twiddled my thumbs absentmindedly. "Always clears my head, checking up on my correspondence with various individuals." I glanced at Sherlock lazily. He seemed to be ignoring me. Can't have that. "I find delaying my response rude. Inconsiderate even. Sometimes it even gives off an unmistakable air of being an complete and utter ass."

"COULD YOU BE QUIET!" He shouted suddenly. I finally cracked his focus and smirked contentedly. "I am trying to work out how you appeared into our flat without our knowledge. Some silence would be lovely."

There was no way I was going to abide by his request. "You know what is really good for thinking?" I stood up and shrugged off the blanket. "Coffee. Black, two sugars, right?" I moved into the kitchen and began making a pot. I filled up a pitcher of water and turned around to fill up the coffee maker only to find him standing in my way.

"How did you know?" His voice was demanding as he gripped my arm like a vice, digging his nails into my arm. "There are many ways people take their coffee, yet you knew which one I preferred. How?"

"Dude, let go of me right now." My nostrils flared in anger. "It was a lucky guess, and I'm really starting to get annoyed at you're unwelcoming nature. You should be happy I even offered to make you coffee in the first place after how crappily you've treated me." He let go and flexed his hand. "That's better. Now calm down and check your email. Go on then." I brandished the pitcher at him and he retreated back into the sitting room, taking my suggestion and opening John's laptop.

Returning to the kitchen I resumed making coffee, only pausing to glance back at him every now and then to make sure everything was alright. I did want to see how this episode played out because everything would be so much different in person.

After the beverage brewed itself I brought a cup to Sherlock as he read though his emails. I retreated to the chair with my own cup, sipping it slowly.

"So, Helen," he said after a few seconds. "Is there a last name to go with that?" He drank from his own cup, not bothering to look at me while he spoke.

"Nah, that's just my CIA code name. My real name is classified information. Top secret stuff. If you knew I'd have to kill you." I took another drink of my coffee and found him staring at me seriously. "It was a _joke_," I clarified, not liking how literally he was taking  
everything I had said thus far. "Do they not have those on the planet you're from?Must be dreadfully dull."

"I was well aware of the humorous intention of your words however I chose to ignore them as a sign of my disapproval." He really didn't know when to admit defeat did he?

"You are the single most stale and flat kill-joy it has been my very ill-timed misfortune to meet, Sherlock Holmes. I hope you find yourself hopelessly bored in the near future." This was the worst insult I could think of, as I well as too aware of his hatred of  
boredom.

"That would be mightily inconvenient to my person to find myself reduced to such a state," he retorted. "For indeed, I've been known to do strange and terrible things in pursuit of the end of such an occurrence and I would not hope such pursuits could potentially harm your person, but then again one can never be certain about those sorts of things." He smirked again, only flaring my temper even more. I would not let him have the last word.

"What a travesty that could be to my health Mr. Holmes, but more importantly it does quite illuminate the faults in your character." I smirked back at him impetuously. "You see, my grandparents always used to have a saying." I got to my feet and whispered in his ear. "They used to say 'an intelligent mind is never bored.' What say you to that, Mr. Holmes?" He looked like he was about to speak when I heard John clambering up the stairs. "Hold that thought," I said, returning to my chair.

"Don't worry about me, I can manage," he said, slightly out of breath. Sherlock was at the computer, resting his head on his clasped hands as I sipped my drink silently. "Is that my computer?"

"Of course," he replied, typing away a response to his friend.

"Why would he get his doctor Watson, when it is probably in his bedroom and yours is so conveniently located right there." John looked at me in puzzlement. "Yes I'm still here, no he didn't hurt me. Only acted like an ass."

"But it's password protected." John removed his coat.

"In a manner of speaking. Took me less then a minute to guess yours. Not exactly Fort Knox." In the show he seemed so cool with his detached demeanor, but in person I just wanted to punch him like everybody else. God what a perspective. For the remainder of the dream I resolved myself to ticking him off whenever I thought the situation called for it.

"Right, thank you," he said in irritation, reclaiming his laptop back from Sherlock. I giggled as Sherlock seemed irritated himself, not finished with his business on the computer. At least that was my guess.

"So is it to the bank then?" I asked him, draining the remainder of the contents from my cup. "This brand is quite good," I said thoughtfully. The flavor was nice and strong, powerful enough to really wake someone up in the morning. "Well?" My eyes looked at him expectantly. "Are we soon off to the bank?"

"How did you know?" He asked, this time less forcefully then the others. It seemed faked though, like he was just feigning polite behaviour in case that approach yielded more success in discovering more information about me.

"Ah, tut tut Mr. Holmes. Don't you know I can read minds?" I wiggled my eyebrows patronizingly and used a babyish tone to my voice.

"Such a thing is impossible," he asserted getting to his feet. "Now I would it appreciate if you would apply a serious affectation to every word that leaves your mouth. It can only help you in the future to be as somber and honest as humanly possible while associated with me."

"Sherlock, if I may interrupt, but what exactly do you plan on doing with her?" John stepped between Sherlock and I, holding out a hand to stop him from moving closer. "I mean, are we going to call the police or just let her go?"

"No," he replied in a drawling tone. "Both of those suggestions are idiotic. Calling the police would mean a short inquiry most likely followed by her eventual release due to the fact that she is both unarmed and did not steal anything. Then I would be unable to question her further. The second suggestion would obviously yield the same result. Instead," he began, running back into the kitchen and shouting back to us. "Instead she will come with us." He produced a white button down shirt and a pair of pants. "Put these on," he said, throwing the articles of clothing at me.

"Sherlock, you can't be serious." John looked at him in disbelief. "We know nothing about her save her first name. She could be an assassin or something. It'd be mental to bring her along."

"You know, 'she' is right here and does not take kindly to bring spoken of as if she is not present and right on front of your eyes. So," I said, laying the clothes on the chair. "I'll be 'loose' as you so kindly described me earlier and just go ahead and change right  
here." I took off my robe and balled it up, throwing it at Sherlock's feet.

"Now that," John stammered, "is unnecessary. Oh God," he said covering his eyes as my sleep clothes feel to the floor.

I stared at Sherlock the entire time, practically daring him to look away. He held up very well as I buttoned up the short he gave me. "No bra then?" I asked. "Or do your girlfriends make sure to take their lingerie when they leave in the morning?" My eyes accused him playfully while I fastened the pants on.

"Well since these clothes are from a previous experiment, you should thank me for sparing you from wearing something so close to the deceased person's body." His eyes glinted evilly as he witnessed my horror and revulsion. My lip curled in disgust. Oh, he was good. But I'd be sure to pay him ten-fold for this, you mark my words. "Ready?" He asked me mockingly.

"You bastard," I muttered, following him as he left.

I heard John trailing behind us, thoroughly bewildered by our exchange. "Yeah, I think I probably missed it but, where are we going exactly?"

* * *

You guys are responsible for the TWELVE (!) BEAUTIFUL emails I have receive thus far since I uploaded the first chapter. Things like this make me so happy it's unreal. I was super worried about putting this story up because I didn't want my OC to be all Mary Sueish (even though she is going toe to toe with Sherlock, it's only because she knows what's going on, so it's not really her) plus the dialogue in this show is so delicately worded and I really wanted to emulate that feeling as accurately as possible. So tell me, how did I do? (crosses fingers)

If you liked this and want to see more, drop me a review. If you do drop me a review and/or save this story to your alerts and/or favorites, that will make me even happier and more likely to write the next chapter. If you feel like I'm taking to long to update this story, then feel free to friend me on facebook and bug me about it there. The link is in my profile.

BYEEEEE~!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"You still haven't told me where we're going," John grumbled as we squeezed into a cab together. "And I think I have a right to know, seeing as you two are the only one's who actually possess that knowledge. So come on, give it up. Where are we headed?"

"The bank John," Sherlock said. He started out the window in intently, avoiding my gaze for the first time since I had arrived. "I have some business to attend to."

"Yeah, that reminds me. I need to get a job." The taxi trundled along the narrow London streets, traversing the intricate maze of stop lights, buses, pedestrians, zebra crossings, and other such obstacles as we made our way to the bank.

"Dull," Sherlock commented. It might have just been my imagination, but I felt like he was actively ignoring me as if I was a petulant child who had scattered his eyeballs and tissue samples across their flat in defiance. Suddenly I felt an insatiable urge to do just that and rise to his puerile expectations.

But for once I agreed with him. John's idea of a normal job was dull. If Sherlock Holmes was your flatmate, albeit a complete and total arse with a total lack of respect for your wishes, you don't go out and get a job. You mess with his head. Like I was just about to do.

"Oh no John. A job's no good." I shook my head severely. "You'll end up falling asleep on shift or flirting with the closest female on hand. Completely mundane. Besides," I glanced at him with my eyebrows raised. "Any job you apply for you'll most likely and up being over qualified." I finished off with a sweet smile. This may not annoy  
Sherlock now, but it might just do the trick later.

I could practically feel Sherlock rolling his eyes at me.

John scratched his head. "I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name. What was it again?"

I held out my hand. "Helen Richardson. Nice to meet you John Watson."

He extended his hand and shook mine. "Yes, Helen. Sorry, my memory isn't the best. Well Helen, will you allow me to prove you wrong?" He seemed quite keen on doing so. I figured I'd humour him.

"Since you are asking my permission, I see no reason not to allow you. However in the future, you could prove me wrong on your own terms. No need to seek my blessing. We're all adults here who are perfectly capable of making their own decisions." I couldn't just tease Sherlock. That would be unfair. Not to mention make him feel special, which would countermand all the hard work I'd done thus far to bring  
him down the ladder.

"Yeah, sounds good." From then on he was wary of me, not sure what to say. "I suppose it was a pleasure being introduced properly for the first time."

"Yes, that was rather refreshing," I said pointedly. "Such a nice change of pace. The day had been more then a bit trying on my patience, and some common human decency was quite in order I reckon." From then on the cab was silent as I grinned to myself, wedged awkwardly between the two men. I resolved to stay silent until  
Sherlock deducted something amazing so he could be all good and smug for me to pester again.

We pulled up in front of a tall office building with flawless clear windows and a revolving door. "Yes, when you said we were going to the bank," John's sentence trailed off just before the escalator. We rode it up as Sherlock led us to a front desk and gave his name. In minutes we found ourselves up many stories and waiting momentarily in a spacious office.

"Sherlock Holmes," a business man said, walking in and immediately  
shaking Sherlock's hand.

"Sebastian," he responded.

"How are you buddy? How long has it been, eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?" His eyes were warm, but the smile didn't reach them completely. He reminded me of a crow. A crow in a suit and tie.

"This is my friend, John Watson." Sherlock tiled his head in John's direction. "And an acquaintance, Helen Richardson." His face bore traces of a half concealed sneer. God almighty he would pay for that.

"Friend," Sebastian said with thinly veiled doubt.

"Colleague," John quickly corrected him. They shook hands.

"And an acquaintance," he said in surprise. "Never thought you would have a woman in your acquaintance, eh Sherlock?" He laughed awkwardly. No, it was worse than awkward. Awkward implies both parties feel a mutual sensation of awkwardness. This was different. It was like Sebastian didn't notice he was being weird. He was just plain creepy.

"Actually I'm his prisoner. The mere mention of Sherlock's name causes every woman in a ten kilometer radius to run screaming bloody murder. I'm just here because he gets lonely sometimes." Now Sebastian felt the awkwardness. I felt it too, but it was different for me because I willfully caused its existence.

"Right," he said, scratching his ear. I effectively tuned out the rest of the conversation because every time I looked at Sebastian I felt a profound and unorthodox craving to douse him in a rainfall of incredibly rotten eggs. It was the laugh that did it. All nasily and condescending. God what I would give for a cricket bat.

I followed the group out of his office and decided to annoy Sherlock again by beating him to his own conclusion. All three men were dutifully ignoring me so I skipped away and hung around by the Hong Kong office, blending in surprisingly well with the office ladies in my classy attire. My mind pondered over the curious length and detail to which my dream was lasting. Usually I didn't dream at all, and when I did they were often short and simplistic. If I did have a dream that seemed to last longer then the others, it was generally a nightmare. A part of me began to freak out a little, and I started craving a cigarette.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock said, acknowledging me for the first time since the introductions. He had finally made his way through the cubicles over to the office,

"You seemed busy, so I thought I'd find a place to hang out. Amuse myself. You did say you liked silence, right?" I had to suppress a giggle setting his face contort into a look of contempt. "I'm sorry, did I do something to upset you?"

He ignored me and examined the view from the office, taking a slip of paper from the door. I followed him as he reunited with John and we prepared to leave. After exiting the elevator John took the opportunity to question Sherlock about how he knew his creep of an old 'friend' had been around the world twice in a month. I only tuned back in after he described his findings at the office. We were already outside before I really started playing attention.

"Not many Van Coon's in the phone book. Taxi!" We clambered inside another cab and headed off to find this Coon fellow. There was more silence while I was again smashed between the two of them. I started thinking what I would need of this dream continued, and the first thing that occurred was a place too sleep. I highly doubted that I would magically find a place in a dream as realistic as this.

"Hey Sherlock," I said, pulling him out of his reverie. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "I've got this really great idea." Instead of listening, he turned his head to face the window once more. "Fine, don't look at me. Eye contact isn't necessary for auditory function, and I highly doubt you can block out everything I say. Here it goes." I took a deep breath. This was a bit of a gamble on my part. "I bet that when we get to this guy's place, he'll be dead. What say you?"

No answer.

"If you're wondering why, I think he'll be dead because the message in the office was a warning to him." No response. "He didn't report it, if you are indeed correct in assuming the message was intended for him. If it was innocuous, then he would have probably told his employers why it was most likely there and received no reprimand."  
Still no answer. "Since he did not do that, it's reasonable to assume that he didn't because the message frightened him somehow." He turned his head ever do slightly towards me. "So I think it was a definite threat and who ever it was killed him."

"While the reasoning behind your assumption is inspiring, the conclusion leaves much to be desired." Finally, he speaks! Even if it was to compliment/insult me, at least he recognized my presence.

"I bet you he's dead," I insisted.

"How unfortunate for you that I am not privy to gambling," he said contemptuously. "Such pursuits are a waste of my time and energy."

"How about I sweeten the deal?" I proposed. No answer. "If I'm right then you guys let me crash at your flat for the night." He scoffed at me instantly. "Just listen to the rest, idiot. If I'm right I crash with you, but if I'm wrong then I will answer any one question of your choosing with absolute honesty." I let him stew it over for a moment. "What do you think?"

He didn't answer for a moment, but I could tell it wasn't out of a desire to ignore me. He was mulling it over. Letting the full impact of my words bounce around his synapses for a moment. I could almost hear his response formulating in his head.

"Five questions," he said in counter proposal.

"Hey now, I said one question."

He turned to look at dead on. "And I said five questions. I believe this is what they call a compromise." His eyes flashed with hunger for the knowledge he thought I possessed.

"Make it three questions and we have a deal." I narrowed my eyes at him, not willing to budge any further then that. I knew that I was going to win anyway, but this wasn't about the game. This was about principal. No matter what I was standing on my ground. I want about to kneel on it.

"Done," he said, holding out his hand. I shook it, and he took the opportunity to grip it as tightly as possible.

"Geez, assert your manhood by squeezing my hand like a python. It won't bother me one little bit." I heard a faint clicks, then a succession of smaller clicks following it. My eyes became devoid of any feeling save insurmountable hatred for this man. "You didn't dare," I seethed.

"Oh but I did," he said, responding with a similar stare. His face was inches from mine. "Rest assured, you will be answering those questions. Once you lose, you will not be able to escape." He held the key aloft and stuffed it in a pocket in his jacket.

"Since when do you have handcuffs at the ready Mr. Holmes? I was under the impression that your expertise in that area was sorely lacking, or am I mistaken?" The ways I would revenge myself upon him were going to be great and varied indeed. Oh the humiliations I would make him suffer...

"I can't possibly understand your meaning," he replied.

Playing innocent. Doesn't take much to piss me off, but I'd been holding back lately and been such a good girl, it was time for me to put my trouble pants on.

"You listen to me Sherlock Holmes," I spat at him. "You are above pretending to be more ignorant then you already are, so don't test me because if you do, I promise I will fail spectacularly. And that is a sight that you very much don't wish to see."

He leaned back and didn't respond, focusing his eyes away from me in that maddening aura of indifference.

"John, you will be witness to this," I said, turning my head in his direction. "John?"

He did a double take and looked at me. "Sorry, have I missed something? What did you say?"

I nearly screamed as Sherlock laughed at my expense.

* * *

Hey guys! Don't hate me, okay? I just... the story needed... I wanted there to be handcuffs, okay? I COULDN'T BLOODY HEEEELP MEEESEEELF! The whole scenario just screamed for them. Literally screamed, the metal clicks kept going off in my head. Don't worry though, if you think this is some precursor to them doing it, that is not what is going to happen. The handcuffs won't be staying long. It'll be like Matt Smith and the fez, they will disappear very soon (I hope). Unless you guys want them to stay. Which is cool, you know. Anyway, your reviews are awesome and keep me motivated, so thank you for that! Stay cool and stay safe guys.

This quick update is for the EIGHT (!) BEAUTIFUL emails that graced my inbox since last we met. That and for some reason inspiration for this story is tantamount to the amount of garbage in the Thames River. Okay, bad analogy, but good intentions.

If you liked this and want to see more, drop me a review. If you do drop me a review and/or save this story to your alerts and/or favorites, that will make me even happier and more likely to write the next chapter. If you feel like I'm taking to long to update this story, then feel free to friend me on facebook and bug me about it there. The link is in my profile.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

We walked up to the building complex, me sulking visibly as Sherlock dragged me along. He had made them incredibly restricting, and my wrist was very soon begging to become irritated by the metal. A scowl etched itself onto my face.

"He's not going to answer," I said as Sherlock pushed the button next to Van Coon's name. "I told you, he's dead. No use for it." He pushed the button again just to spite me.

"So what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back." John seemed to be siding with Sherlock, apparently trusting the man who handcuffed random women to himself rather then the unwilling victims of his pain in-the assery.

"If you really want to get inside, why don't you ask the new tenant below to buzz us in and use their balcony to descend to his." I wiggled my eyebrows as Sherlock looked at me scathingly. He seemed to sense my foreknowledge regarding his next words, and was cross that I said them before he could have his chance at seeming brilliant. Which he was. I was simply showing him that others could be too. Granted, I was kinda cheating. Not that it mattered, since he didn't know that.

It was a bit difficult, trying to explain away the handcuffs to the rather confused and suspicious lady, but he came up with a simple alias and some garbage saying that we were doing an experiment regarding the psychology of being in close proximity and it's effect on mental function. Her eyes were skeptical, but she allowed us on the balcony, which presented another problem. The proper way to jump down with the two of us linked.

"Just unlock them," I protested. "They've been extremely cumbersome and have only served to curtail our abilities in solving this case. Our argument right now is delaying the time we could be using to continue our investigation."

"If I do unlock you, it is likely that you will attempt an escape." He looked over the side of the railing, judging how best to move forward. "That is something that I can not allow at this point."

"In a fight, I think it's painfully obvious who would possess the upper hand," I said quietly. "So even if I tried to run away, my attempt would be all to quickly thwarted." I sighed. "Look, take off these things and let me go down first. If I try to escape, John will be able to stop me and you can put them back on. Besides, if he is dead I get to stay with you regardless. So either way, I'm sticking around. Deal?" My voice was laced with impatience.

Sherlock looked at me severely. "Fine," he said, retrieving the key from inside his coat. "For your sake I hope you are not lying." He twisted the key in the lock and I regained ownership of my hand. At least temporarily.

"Wouldn't dream of it." I rubbed the skin gingerly. "And next time, don't make them so tight. It just encourages me." My hands hoisted me up and over the rail, stumbling slightly as I hit the ground. "All right, your turn."

He followed swiftly, landing much more gracefully then I. He held up the cuffs expectantly.

"Careful," I warned. "Keep this up and I'll start to think you actually like having me around. Then I might just have to step up my game." I stretched out my left hand. It was easier to walk together if they were on opposite hands. It was possible we could even hide they were there at all.

Click. "I would call it intrigue, as opposed to enjoyment of your presence." He made them even tighter then before, and I winced in discomfort. "I still have yet to discover anything truly concrete regarding your nature."

I smiled nastily. "Somehow I feel a distinct and foreign feeling at those words. What is it called?" My head tipped to the side coyly. "Oh, I remember. Strangely I feel as if you were almost_ flattering me_.

Sherlock looked at me darkly. "How silly of you," he said. "The moment I have extracted every piece of knowledge concerning your person will be the same moment I make every effort to ensure we never meet again." He opened the wide French glass door. "Don't mistake my thirst for information as a compliment." He led me into the room, and thrown by his words, a lump formed in my throat.

He really was an freak. My eyes were threatening to water, but I forced the would-be tears back down. I would not display any change in my demeanour. I would not allow him to see how his words had affected me. I was not going to let him have that satisfaction. I was not! If anything, he only furthered my resolve to frustrate him.

"So this chap was left handed," I commented as he surveyed the flat. We walked through the sitting room and into the kitchen. He opened up the fridge and glanced inside, noting the excessive amounts of wine it contained. "I mean, you do see that, don't you?" He ignored me once again. Perhaps it wasn't just me though, as he ignored John as he attempted to contact us using the buzzer. I think part of him was in deduction mode.

We approached a pair of wooden doors that led into the bedroom. He tried opening them but failed, and resorted to breaking them open with his shoulder. The first thing he saw inside was Van Coon, dead by gunshot wound to the head. I cracked a grin, not even bothering to say that I had won. He would be irritated enough to know that I was right.

"We better go let John in," I said. "It wouldn't be right if he missed out on this happy occasion." Part of me felt bad for saying that at a crime scene, but Sherlock wouldn't care and I felt much too elated from proving him wrong.

Not too long after the police had arrived. Sherlock put on a pair of rubber gloves.

"So do you think he lost a lot of money? I mean, suicide is pretty common among city boys." John had his arms crossed and looked at the body.

Sherlock moved away from it, a small look of exasperation on his face. "I don't know that it was suicide." He crouched down, which meant I also was forced to crouch down, and examined his suitcase.

"Come on. The door was locked from the inside." He looked to the window. "You'd have to climb down the balcony."

Sherlock noted his luggage. "Been away three days, judging by the laundry." He stood back up, and I also got to my feet. "Look at the case, there was something tightly packed inside it."

John kept his eyes firmly planted away from the bag. "Take your word for it."

"Problem?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, I'm not desperate to root around some blokes dirty underwear." John's voice held a trace of disgust at the very idea.

"It seems you were right, Helen," Sherlock said, pulling out a crumpled once of paper out of the body's mouth. "He was being threatened. They used some sort of code, obviously. I still haven't worked that out yet." He placed the evidence into a plastic bag. A man walked into the room. "Ah, sergeant." He offered his hand, which meant I offered my left. "We haven't met."

"Yeah, I know who you are." The man placed his hand in his pockets. "And I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence." He eyed the cuffs with a measure of disbelief.

Sherlock handed him the bag. "I phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"

"He's busy," he explained. Due to my current attitude toward Sherlock, I was kinda rooting for this guy. He seemed keen to dish out some finely crafted standoffishness towards Sherlock. I could only wish him the greatest possible success. "I'm in charge. And it's not sergeant, it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock." Burn. "Why are you handcuffed to that woman?" His voice was disapproving, like no matter what he said Dimmock would not believe him and substitute his own reason, most likely a worse scenario then the truth.

"Foreplay," I said quickly, cutting off whatever ridiculous explanation Sherlock was like to provide. Indeed, Sherlock seemed to stiffen in response to my words, obviously fuming over their intention and effect. It took nearly all of my willpower not to smile or laugh as the DI glared at him with so much contempt I thought the handcuffs might spontaneously combust from sheer mind power.

I was so content with myself I didn't even realize what anyone was saying until Sherlock mockingly praised Dimmock saying, "Good, you're finally asking the right questions," and leaving in a huff. "That would have been entirely easier if Lestrade had been there," he observed once we got into another taxi. "John, call Sebastian's office and find out where he is. I need to inform him off what's happened."

"Alright, sounds like a good idea." John complied, pulling out his cell phone and dialing the number.

While he talked, I began whispering to Sherlock. "Sorry I used an excuse that you have so little knowledge in to explain away the handcuffs," I said, trying to make him feel as uncomfortable as possible. "You don't think it will cause problems for you with the people at your work, do you?" Of course it would cause problems. The implication that he brought me there for that type of purpose would significantly diminish his already rocky position in relation to his co-workers.

"Even if I was what you might call 'inexperienced' in those types of activities, why would you assume as such?" His voice deepened even further when he whispered, giving of the distinct impression that he held significant power akin to James Earl Jones portraying Darth Vader.

He was fishing, trying to get me to admit to being acquainted and associated with his brother Mycroft. His brother did often tease him on the exact same subject matter, and Sherlock had incorrectly abduced that Mycroft had related to me some details concerning that particular area of Sherlock's, inexperience, as it were. But in no way would I give him that satisfaction. Plus I didn't know Mycroft anyway, so if Sherlock approached him about it then I would be caught, tried, and condemned in the mental court of Sherlock Holmes' for perjury.

"Sherlock, I merely assumed that while your talent for deducing certain facts and conclusions not privy to the general public is on a pedestal nigh impregnable, your lack of a, shall we say, glittering personality, has led me to conclude that your attractiveness level presented to the opposite sex is sorely lacking." I lifted my left hand up, forcing him to do the same. "Case in point, Mr. Holmes. Not many women find being trapped with an ass to be considered sexy."

Several times he had let it known his displeasure that my presence had caused, but now I really laid on thick my own feelings of contempt and disgust. No sense in sugar coating it. If I had been awake, I probably would've stayed silent and demure sound someone like him. But not here. I could do anything, so I threw social precaution to the wind and said what I bloody well felt like saying. It's amazing what one could accomplish with this type of mind set.

"Sherlock, he's eating at a restaurant with some associates in Leicester Square. Should we wait until he's done or go now?"John had finished with his call and was completely oblivious to the mini face-off the two of us had just had.

"No, we'll go now." He looked past me and at John instead. "Taxi, take us please."

I looked over at John as well and smiled, sighing every so slightly. "What, have I missed something again?" I raised an eyebrow at him. He rubbed his forehead in irritation. "You two have got to stop doing that."

We arrived at the restaurant and interrupted his meeting, which pleased me somewhere in the malicious corner of my mind. I decided I liked him a good deal less then Sherlock. Sebastian led us to the bathroom, and I stopped short of entering it.

"What's the problem now?" He said, jerking a bit as I halted unexpectedly.

"My problem is that is the men's restroom," I said slowly.

"I fail to see why that hinders your ability to go inside," he countered.

"It hinders my ability because I am in fact a female Sherlock." He was staring to piss me off again. "Females do not go into the men's restroom, or were you never taught that in school?"

He was about to say something, then stopped. He took a breath to steady himself. "If you could ignore social convention for the next five minutes, that would put me at great ease. I am asking you nicely."

"Well, it's not exactly my goal to make you feel at ease now is it sonny boy?"

His brow wrinkled in frustration. "There is nothing for it. Please remember this was of your own doing." He began to drag me into the bathroom! My feet slid across the floor as I mutilated him a thousand times over with my eyes, cursing his superior strength. "Screw you Sherlock Holmes!"

The other two were already inside and looked at us apprehensively. The two of us looked like an absurd pair, one bitterly forcing the other along while the other struggled viciously against the one. The whole thing, I regret to say, was quite childish.

"You two okay?" John asked tentatively.

Once inside Sherlock released me and brushed off his coat. "Just fine," he muttered. Forcing a smile, he raised his eyebrows and said, "What is there to know about Van Coon?" This time it was my turn to actively ignore him, looking the other way with my nose in the air while they conversed. The whole situation was entirely and unnecessarily demeaning. At least the bathroom was clean.

They finished chatting rather quickly. I was inextricably tired of the whole situation, and felt myself experience a strangely odd pang of homesickness. "Are we heading back then?" I queried them. Sherlock ignored me and went outside instead.

"Taxi!" He called. One arrived immediately.

We climbed in silently, none of us wanting to break the temporary calm that had befallen us. The vehicle bustled down the streets, taking us back to the 221B. Several times I considered speaking, but thought this was likely a rare occurrence and didn't want to waste it. Simple silence can be quite rewarding.

Back at the flat I resumed my previous position in the red chair, pulling my feet to my chest. My head leaned against the back of the chair. I was utterly and irreparably drained. Trying to play smart ass with Sherlock Holmes took no small amount of energy. And he was still attached to me in a rather disgruntled manner.

"It would be most convenient for me if you would relocate wherever I happen to traverse," he informed me.

"Yeah, and it would be most convenient for me if you would shut the hell up," I shot right back at him. "I swear I can almost see an entire tree growing out of your ass from when you decided to shove a stick up there." My eyes became heavy. "I'm staying here tonight anyway, so take these damn things off and leave me the heck alone." I felt my mind drifting away.

"If you are going to sleep, I suggest you do so in an actual bed." He pulled me to my feet. "I never use mine, so you can rest there." In my hazy state I followed him, ready to pass out the moment my head hit the pillow. " He led me to his bedroom and unlocked himself from me, and I immediately fell onto the bed.

"Why do you have a mattress this amazing if you never use it?" I asked groggily. I pulled the blankets over me, sleep just moments away from claiming me. Somewhere I thought I heard a faint noise that seemed familiar, but ignored it, letting the dreams wash over my spent body.

Sherlock returned to the main room, sitting in his own chair and resting his head on his fingers. John hopped onto his computer, but glanced back at his friend every now and then. Neither spoke for an hour until John finally decided to break the ice, knowing it had to be done sometime.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" He said, swirling his chair around to glance at the immovable consulting detective.

"Not really, no," he responded.

"It's okay if you do." John was trying to reassure his friend.

"No, this is a discussion I would rather not have with you, or anyone for that matter." Sherlock began to run n his fingers through his hair. "It's just..."

"It's just what, Sherlock?" John turned to face his friend more fully.

He got up and began pacing. "She's just so, so, so, infuriating." His voice was full of annoyance. "Never before have I had to combat someone who knew more about me then I about them. I'm at my wits end attempting to break her." He stopped and picked towards his friend. "Why was she in our flat? I must be missing something."

"It could be that she was telling the truth and only ended up here by accident," John pointed out. "She seemed to be telling the truth, or at least what she thought was the truth."

"It can't be that simple," Sherlock said contradictorily. "The probability that her words had even the most atomic trace of truth to them is abysmal." He scowled. "I hate liars."

"Well Sherlock, you've got her name and that DNA sample from earlier," John pointed out. "You could always try to find out who she is and where she's from. Didn't she mention her boyfriend had recently died in a car accident? You could look through recent news articles and maybe try to find her that way too."

"I've got it!" Sherlock said suddenly. "I'll take down the tissue from earlier and have it analyzed at the lab and compare it against various databases. Then I'll use her name and see if I can find any correlation between her and recent car accidents. This is genius!" He began assembling his coat and gloves, stuffing the plastic bag in his pocket.

"Sherlock, that's what I just said." John looked at his friend in disbelief. "Sherlock, are you listening to me?"

"I'll be at St. Barts. Don't wait up for me." And with that he swept out of the flat, a new goal and sense of determination needling at the back of his head. "I will find out who you are," Sherlock muttered to himself. "Helen Richardson."

* * *

Happy New Year! Sorry I'm a little tipsy at the moment, but please forgive that. I may or may not be potentially incoherent for the remainder of this note. Oh gawd I love you guys! You've no idea how nervous I was putting up this fic, mostly because I know the premise is WAY WAY WAY overdone, and OCs are generally looked upon with disdain. Plus making every word I type sound scholarly and sensible (most of the time) is an absolute pain in the ass!

Oh, and if you've ever been to Leicester Square, it is one of my favorite places to be in London. I love the busyness of it. Makes me feel at peace for some strange reason.

And I hope you don't mind Helen checking out every time there's extensive dialogue from the show, because I don't want it to be a complete rehash of what's in the episode. My only solution was to have her tune them out and stuff. And does anyone else feel like their conversations are reminiscent of Darcy and Elizabeth? Because I sure as hell see that. But them again, I'm an alien amalgamation of a plethora of concepts, theories, musings, trivia, pop culture references, obscure cultural references, music, and insanity.

If someone could please pass me a towel, I desperately need to mop up this utter mess of an author's note.

If you liked this and want to see more, drop me a review. If you do drop me a review and/or save this story to your alerts and/or favorites, that will make me even happier and more likely to write the next chapter. If you feel like I'm taking to long to update this story, then feel free to friend me on facebook and bug me about it there. The link is in my profile.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Sunlight filtered through the Windows of 221B Baker Street, the early morning just kissing the tops of the buildings in London as the day began. Sherlock had not yet returned from the hospital, no doubt still running tests and trying to find as much about me as he could. His results thus far were inconclusive. John on the other hand was just waking up, preparing for an interview so he could actually help pay the rent. He left fairly quickly, mind focused on obtaining the job and proving me wrong.

Of course I wasn't aware of this at the time, as I slept well into the morning. My brain needed to recharge as much as possible after the taxing nap I had just had. Our so I still thought. When my eyes opened blearily, I wondered where my television had gone, sure that I had most likely fallen asleep on the couch waiting for my Netflix to  
buffer. I tried rubbing my eyes, but then came to the realization that my left hand was tethered to a bed post. That woke me up pretty quickly.

I pulled angrily at the cuffs, but to no avail. It was clear in a matter of seconds that no amount of jiggling our tension was liable to free me, but that sure as hell didn't stop me from trying. I twisted them, I jerked them, I even tried to squeeze my hand out of them, but they were too strong and fastened too tight. How I despised him...

"Sherlock Holmes!" I hollered, hoping he would hear me. "You better come here at once or I swear I will gnaw at your neck until the skin wears down and falls off. Then I will slice open your stomach using my fingernails and stuff your head inside, and afterwards I will sew you back up using string I have braided together from hair I shaved off your scalp." I paused. "Do you hear me Sherlock Holmes?" No answer.

This couldn't be happening. This dream was supposed to be over. It's every fan's dream to meet their favorite characters, but sometimes certain one's are better dreamt of in theory. I felt secure in knowing that my dream would end as soon as I had been thoroughly disillusioned by the ego and arrogance Sherlock possessed. But a tiny part of my brain began to doubt. Was this really a dream? I mentally slapped  
myself. Of course it was. Unless I was going crazy and hallucinating this all, which seemed unlikely as I had never before exhibited signs of mental instability. Whatever was happening, it was clearly not over and my next actions needed to include extricate myself from these restraints.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES! GET YOUR ASS UP HERE THIS INSTANT!" My patience had entirely run out. I still pulled fruitlessly at the chain, grazing the skin around my wrist roughly. The metal began to sting as it touched.

I heard him moving up the stairs. "About bloody time," I said as he turned the door knob. "It's not as if I was going anywhere, you could have just kept them of you know." I turned to look as he stepped in, then did a double take as I realized he was a she. "Uh," I said blankly as she looked at me in shock. "This is not what it looks like."

"Oh don't worry dearie, I won't say a thing to anyone," Mrs. Hudson reassured me. "Although I was sure..." She trailed off with a sigh. "Well, we're going to have to remove these things aren't we." She bustled over and examined them. "Ooh, and they look strong too. Goodness me."

"He has the keys," I informed her. "Is he gone?"

"Haven't seen either of them at all this morning," she said. "But that's men for you, always running off to who knows where and getting themselves into all sorts of trouble. It's our job to give 'em what for when they return. He certainly did a number on you," she commented.

I half smiled, half grimaced. "Oh believe me, I did not agree to this," I said, tugging at the chain again. I peered at the post, seeing exactly how it was assembled. "Would you happen to have a screwdriver? If I undo these screws, I might be able to slip the cuffs off the post." There were two posts at either side of the bed, and a long plank between them. He had secured the other half of the cuffs under this plank. "Better yet, just get a hammer."

"Sure thing," Mrs. Hudson answered, hurrying off to fetch it. "I'll have to speak to Sherlock about this. I'm not his house keeper, not that he pays that any mind." She came back, hammer in hand. "I won't be responsible for him. He needs to be more considerate."

"Too right you are." I offered my hand. "Helen Richardson."

She took it. "Call me Mrs. Hudson. Are you sure you want to use a hammer? You could end up breaking it."

I grinned with pre-satisfaction. "Oh, I'm counting on it." I let go of her hand and swung at the board mercilessly, delight coursing through me as hammer collided with wood, splintering the plank in a spectacularly crude manner. Mrs. Hudson helped me separate the board from the post, and I gladly slid the cuff up and off, rejoicing  
momentarily in my freedom. "Thanks, it has been a pleasure destroying Sherlock's possessions with you. We should do it again sometime."

"Can I get you anything?" She offered. "Tea or coffee perhaps?" I was taken in by this woman's extraordinary tolerance to the absurd quirks of her tenants. That and she had been very kind to me so far.

I smiled gently. "Thanks, but I'm alright just now. Is there anything I can do for you, as thanks for treating me so well?" She deserved far more credit then she received in my opinion.

She stopped and looked at me in shock. "That's the first time anyone's offered to do something for me in a long while." I figured as much. "If you don't mind, I've got some boxes that need carrying inside. Usually I do it myself, but they're ever so heavy, and this hip you see," she patted it lightly. "Can be quite troublesome at times."

"It would be my pleasure," I said. She smiled and led me outside the flat where the stack of boxes was waiting. "Where do you want me to put them?"

"There's a room just down the hall and to your left," she told me, pointing in its direction through the open door. "If you could stack them there, that will save me a lot of time." She stepped back inside. "I'll prop this open. If something happens, just give us a shout. I've got some clothes to fold up." I watched as she went inside.

"Time to dig in," I said, and lifted one. She wasn't wrong, they were heavy. More so then I had assumed, but not unmanageable. The real trouble was getting it off the ground. Once that was done, it became less unwieldy. I took it inside as instructed then returned for another. But something stopped me for a moment as I crossed the  
threshold. My feet pivoted to face the door, eyeing the address numbers. 221B. I let my fingers trace them, indulging in a moment of pure happiness. The duration of the job flew by quickly, as all I could think about was the fact that I was at the 221B Baker Street. It seemed surreal, that I was at the residence of an (albeit conceited and insufferable) genius.

Only one box remained, and in my transient like state I slipped and fell, clutching the package to my chest as I did so. My eyes shut tight in anticipation of the crash. Instead I found myself caught by someone. I opened one eye and inwardly groaned. Why Sherlock? Of all the people to catch me it had to be him. No doubt he was going to expect some type of compensation for assisting me.

"Thanks," I said as he took the box out of my hands. "Mrs. Hudson was having me store them in that room there." I indicated which one. "Where have you been this entire time?"

He didn't answer right away, but instead finished the job. I followed him inside and shut the door, ready to go upstairs and get some breakfast.

"How did you escape?" He inquired, climbing after me.

"I just told you I was doing a job for Mrs. Hudson and you're asking how I escaped?" I asked incredulously. "Make a deduction. She obviously found me earlier this morning. It's not like it's that big a leap." I dangled the cuffs in front of him as we entered the flat. "And it's your own fault this time that people think you've got a fetish. Oh wait, you don't know what that is." I loved patronizing him. It made him the most irritated out of anything.

Mrs. Hudson came up just then. "I thought I heard you come back Sherlock. And thanks so much Ms. Richardson for taking those inside for me." She patted him on the shoulder and said in a whisper, "I like her Sherlock. She's a keeper." It was a rather loud whisper, and carried considerably well across the room. I nearly stuffed my fist in my mouth to keep from laughing. There was no way Sherlock was "keeping" me for any longer then he absolutely had to.

He didn't say anything until she left, and closed the door behind her when she did. "Who are you?"

"You know, every time you ask that I fail to respond. They say madness is repeating the same action over and over again, expecting a different result. So you see what I am getting at Mr. Holmes?" I opened John's laptop and pointed at it. "Log on," I said.

"Why should I do that?" He asked me.

"I noticed you took the bag with my snot in it. Must have had some fun analyzing that I bet. If you had found out who I was, then you wouldn't have just asked me that, meaning whatever data you collected was inconclusive. If you log on, I will then take the computer and pull something up for you. The use of my fingers will be optimal, as the majority of the print will press down on the keys. If it amuses you, then you can have my finger prints scanned. Think of it as a gift for helping me earlier." I looked at him expectantly. "Well?"

He walked over and typed in the password. "Will that suffice?"

"For the time being, yes." I pulled the laptop closer to me and began searching. It wasn't hard to find. "I think you will find this to be of some use to you." He looked over my shoulder, eyes scanning the article pensively. "What do you think?" Instead of answering he took the laptop and read it again, knowing that it must definitely  
connected to the case.

He needed to stop focusing on me. If he continued to do so, I would have to spoon feed him everything that went on. Part of me knew that if I hadn't been there, he wouldn't have been distracted and would have found this earlier. This wasn't good. That's not how it was supposed to work. But right now I was just glad he didn't ask me how I knew this was online if I didn't have access to the internet. He was back on track. At least for now.

I left him to his devices and went down to Mrs. Hudson's.

"Hello," she said warmly. "Is there something that you need?"

"Yes," I said. "Sorry to ask something of you so soon after you helped me out this morning."

"Think nothing of it, not after you carried ask those boxes in for me." She invited me in and got me cup of tea. "What is it that I can do for you?" Twenty minutes later I had a bag full of vintage clothing Mrs. Hudson had worn back in the day. "I've no need for it dear," she said. "Can't fill it out quite like I used to. Oh, and take this," she said, adding to the pile a small purse. "Dangerous for a woman to go alone without a purse. It's like a weapon," she joked.

"You have my sincerest thanks," I said, smiling gratefully. "What would Sherlock do without you here to scold him?" I carried the lot back up to their flat. "Nice to see you made it back John. How was it?" He looked at me confused. "The interview."

"Oh, right. It went well." He nodded gently. "Great."

"Was I right?" I asked him.

He didn't answer for a moment. "Of course not. Everything was utterly professional." He tried to sound convincing, but I already knew how it went down, so his attempts were lost on me.

"I wasn't asking you," I told him. "Tell me Sherlock, how was he on his return?" I could tell they had already discussed this as the laptop was in front of John. Looks like they had talked about the murder as well.

"Oh no no no," John said. "I will not have the two of you conspiring against me." He pointed at both of us vigorously. "That is not allowed here. I absolutely forbid it." His eyes were serious but it was impossible to take him so.

"I can say with certainty that he spent a good deal of his interview in the company of a woman he found to be quite attractive, and although he says their interaction was professional I think it fair to assume otherwise." Sherlock glanced at me and I grinned. John was in shambles at our brief camaraderie, as it picked to pieces his assertions and proved me correct. I could honestly say this was possibly the most fun I had had since coming here.

You know, I was considering holding this chapter hostage because of the one (!) review I received last time, but I let it pass because I am a forgiving person. Don't expect it to happen again. (Yes, I'm a review whore. You like this story? Then get used to that. It builds character.) Now make me happy damn it~!

*whacks you with a cane* FOOL!

Anyone see the Zelda reference? Ribena to whoever gets it first!

If you liked this and want to see more, drop me a review. If you do drop me a review and/or save this story to your alerts and/or favorites, that will make me even happier and more likely to write the next chapter. If you feel like I'm taking to long to update this story, then feel free to friend me on facebook and bug me about it there. The link is in my profile.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I left the sitting room and into the bathroom, choosing a skirt and shirt combo that Mrs. Hudson had provided. Thought it was about time I ditched the dead people clothes. Retro seemed a major improvement. When I returned I found them ready to leave, Sherlock already in his coat and John one foot out the door.

"Hey, don't you leave without me," I said, pulling out a jacket from the bag. "I wanna come too."

"Wait, you actually want to come with us?" John asked. No doubt he thought I despised both of them equally. "And where did those clothes come from?"

"As surprising as it seems, yes I wish to accompany you. I do have my own interest in these sorts of things. And the clothes are from Mrs. Hudson." The skirt hit right at my knee, and was a gorgeous tweed. The shirt was a frilly button-up style similar to the one Sherlock had given me, except it was tailored more for a woman. My hands reached out to Sherlock. "The key please." He didn't move for a moment. "Oh come on, I know you still have it. Hand it over so I can remove these suggestive things." I shook the handcuffs, one still attached to my wrist. "Or would you rather everyone at Scotland Yard make their own assumptions as to why I am wearing them?"

He took out the key but held it just out of my reach. "Do I have your word you will not disappear?" His eyes held some sort of intention that I could not quite identify as being one emotion or another.

"I just said I wanted to come with you. Not many people would say that unless they were willing to put up with your pigheadedness. Besides, if it was just the cuffs stopping me I could have those removed by anybody." My fingers wiggled playfully. "Now fork them over. We haven't got all day." He obliged me, and I freed myself from the bonds  
triumphantly. "That's that done, now, shall we?"

Sherlock gave a mock bow and gestured with his arm to the exit. "After you, your highness."

I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him. "Ass," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that?" He asked me. God I hated that. He knew what I said, but just couldn't leave well enough alone.

"I called you an ass Mr. Holmes," I said, reiterating myself. "Dear me, couldn't you hear? You should get that checked out. Lots of hearing is potentially problematic. Might need a hearing aid if that keeps up."

"What a loss indeed it would be to hear your voice," he said. "How ever would I cope with the knowledge that every word you spoke would fall on deaf ears?" He leaned in and whispered the next sentence. "But I think you might find that to be more disturbing then I. Part of me would relish that you could never bother me with your trivialities." I could practically hear him smirking behind me.

When we arrived at Scotland Yard, I detached myself from them and sought refuge at a water cooler, taking a long drink from one of the little plastic cups. My head leaned against the jug as I watched Sherlock and John talking with Dimmock.

"Are you with Sherlock Holmes?" I looked around to see a woman standing behind me, clip board at her waist.

"I guess you could say that," I said. It was Sally Donovan, the woman who openly despised Sherlock. Although I wasn't entirely sure why she was talking to me. I did like her hair though. It was big and curly. Why couldn't I get my hair to do that?

"Is it true that you were at a crime scene with him yesterday?" She asked. At least she didn't beat around the bush. I guessed she wanted an explanation for why any woman would be with him.

"That's right," I answered. "I asked him if it was okay, you know, seeing him do his thing. Be in his element. Bit of a turn on." I had to suppress a smile.

She paused, chewing on the side of her cheek in disbelief. "So you were handcuffed to him." She folded her arms, liking at me expectantly. Would I give her something to think about...

I rolled up my sleeve and looked at the mark there. "Yeah, although that's really my thing." Now I smiled at her, a huge one from ear to ear. "Though I must say, I've never experienced anything like being with him before. I mean, hot damn." My eyes flickered over to him, getting all up in Dimmock's face. "That is something I will never forget. Knows exactly how to get my blood flowing." It's not like what I was saying was untrue, it all just had a double meaning. It wasn't my fault if she let her imagination run wild. "See you around," I said, taking one last sip of the cup and throwing it away.

Sherlock had begun moving, so I rejoined him.

"Saw you getting cozy with Sergeant Donovan," he observed as I walked alongside him. "Did she warn you to stay away from me because I'm a psychopath? Perhaps tell you I'm a freak who gets of on this sort of thing?"

I felt briefly insulted that he would think me as shallow as to listen to office gossip. "Even if she did, that would be idiotic as you're a sociopath. They are two completely different things. No, I spent most of my conversation with her insinuating that our foreplay yesterday led to a spectacular lie the likes of which I'd hitherto been fortunate enough to encounter." I put my hands in my pockets. "Figured she'd leave me alone if I said that."

There was a moment of silence, then we both began laughing. It was surprising, as we both thought that there was not a gram of commonality between us. Nice to know there was at least something we could discuss civilly.

"I'm glad you're not bothered," I said, trying to stifle my giggles. "Part of me worried you'd be insulted by such a declaration, especially to a co-worker who clearly despised you."

"No," he said. "Indeed I am not. I'm pleasantly amused at the image of her trying to comprehend me in such a position. Her argument that I am a freak is all but destroyed." We broke out in another fit of laughter. People stared at us as we passed, most likely wondering who the hell I was and why was I laughing with the freak in question, Sherlock Holmes.

My good mood persisted for quite sometime, and I didn't even try to argue with him or annoy him the entire time we were at the crime scene. Dimmock didn't want to let me in, but he insisted, claiming I was essential. That was a nice feeling, being needed. Even if he might not totally mean what he said, it was the thought that counts. I didn't comment nearly the whole time, just let Sherlock do his thing. On the way up however, I did grab the book from the library.

"We have to find out what connects these two men," he said.

"Hey, I found this," I told him, handing him the book. "Looked a bit out of place." My eyebrows moved up on my forehead. "Think it'll be useful?" It was a silly question and we both knew it. Of course it was useful. If it wasn't I wouldn't have mentioned it.

None of us spoke a word as we drove in the back of a taxi, yet again, over to the West Kensington Library. I liked this, cooperating peacefully with him. It was a considerable improvement over the handcuffs, I can tell you that. Still I didn't say anything, just watching as the progress was made on the case just like it should have been. It was almost as if I want there. Which I shouldn't be. As they walked through the library with me blindly following, I felt distinctly out of place. Well, I had felt like this since the beginning, but it was more so then ever. I didn't belong here. Why couldn't I just wake up? Was something wrong with me? Did I fall into a coma and this was simply an extension of my brain trying to keep me functioning? What if...

"Helen, are you even listening?"

I was pulled out of my trance and realized we had made it all the way back to Baker Street and it hadn't even registered with me. "What, sorry?" I blinked profusely. They were ready to leave, and they looked back at me, Sherlock impatient. "Oh, don't mind me. I think I'll sit this trip out. Have fun." I curled up on the sofa. They paused,  
waiting for me to change my mind. "Go on, I have a bit of a headache. I'd just hold you back." I waved them off. "Mr. Holmes, good luck with that advice. John, don't hold onto the paint."

"Don't wait up for her, she's obviously no use to us right now." Sherlock said. My eyes closed when I heard them walking out.

"What do you think she meant, don't hold onto the paint?" John said, his voice growing fainter. I didn't hear his response, both out of hearing range.

I rubbed my forehead, unsure of what was going on. Was it possible to have dreams this realistic or last this long? Perhaps it could happen, but I want sure. I thought I heard somewhere that you have several dreams each time you go to sleep, but only remember the last one. Additionally each dream only lasted about ten seconds, even if duration you recall did not coincide with this. If I could just wake up, that would be really awesome. I pinched myself. Nothing happened. I did it again. Nada. Just a slight pain in my arm. But there wasn't supposed to be pain in dreams. Ugh! My head couldn't wrap itself around the problem and devour it, so instead my head was devoured by the problem. I want entirely sure how long I laid there, but I was painfully aware of when I no longer could after Sherlock returned and sat me upright against my will.

"Take these," he said, shoving books into my arms. He had his own assortment that he began flipping through, pictures of symbols and choppers on every page. "Look through and see if you can find where this code comes from. If we can break the code, we can solve the case."

My lip curled in distaste. "Screw that. I'm not looking through these books to find out the origin of the messages like I'm some student finding sources for their research paper. Plus do you think that the symbols were chosen from a book called 'An Illustrated Encyclopedia of Traditional Symbols'?" I placed the books on the coffee table. "Please. You can do this yourself."

"If you aren't going to be useful then you can excuse yourself from my presence," he said contemptuously. "It's incredibly distracting when the laziness in the room reaches tangible levels. So please," he waved me off. "You're just holding me back." I felt the bitterness in his words, a cruel and twisted echo of a phrase I gave earlier.

"Mr. Holmes, I will leave, but not because you wish it." I walked over to him and stared him down. His eyes never left the pages. "I am leaving because the less time I am required to remain in your presence the less clogged my brain will become from the accursed and toxic fumes you radiate simply by being." I gathered up the bag Mrs. Hudson had given me. "If you need me, I will be downstairs gossiping about you with Mrs. Hudson."

"I can't imagine why I would need you," he said, taking notes from the books that lay strewn about him. "Will your tantrum suffice for now, or is there something else you wish to whine and prattle on about?"

I scowled at him and left, not saying another word. My anger was paramount to his arrogance, something I had considered unfeasible by any stretch of the imagination. If I could give him just one really good wallop in the jaw, it _might_ be able to offset the current buildup of odious frustration towards his character. _Might._ A teeny bit. A _tiny _little scrap. Just barely. Maybe. Probably not.

I knocked on her door lightly, ready to give her a huge hug for being so nice. She didn't answer so I knocked again, figuring she couldn't hear me the first. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson? It's Helen from earlier. Are you home?" All I heard was a soft thunk, muffled by the door. "Mrs. Hudson?" No answer. I opened the door and went inside, treading  
carefully. "Mrs. Hudson, are you alright?" I moved into the kitchen, and all I could see was a short man dressed all in black, digging through some of her possessions.

"Who the hell are you?" He dropped a bag he was holding and ran for it, but I threw myself at him savagely and we feel to the floor. We rolled around for a bit while I attempted to punch him, falling miserably at the task. He on the other hand was having unfair luck and landed a good one right on my jaw bone, and I could feel the  
reverberation throughout my mouth and teeth. Clutching at my jaw like a sissy, he scampered away. My skin bled a little, but I didn't feel anything too serious inside

Just then Mrs. Hudson returned with a grocery bag. "What happened here?" She hurried over and took a look at me. "What have you done to yourself?"

"Do you think I'd do this on purpose?" I asked. My muscles were already sore. "There was a burglar. I had come by to visit and heard something inside bump. I thought you might have fallen." My mouth twitched in pain. "It looked like the bastard had some of your stuff." I gestured at the bag he left behind. "You could say we got into a disagreement."

I massaged my jaw as she looked through the bag. "He was going to take all of my jewelry," she exclaimed, holding up a long gold chain. "And these are some of my best pieces. Oh dear, thank you so much." She threw her arms around me. "Some of these are irreplaceable heirlooms." She pulled back and looked at me seriously. "If you need anything, just ask me. I will get you all sorted out."

I thought for a moment. "Well, there is one thing..."

* * *

Any guesses? That's more like it! I got a nice few reviews from the last chapter, let's see if we can keep that going, okay?

Btw, what do you guys like more: The at each other's throats attitude, or the begrudging cooperation with occasional happy moment? Let me know, will you. I'm trying to stay these chapters out as much as possible, because that way you're not waiting after the Reichenbach Fall episode is over for an update that won't happen in months. Granted there will be some filler chapters, but not too many.

If you liked this and want to see more, drop me a review. If you do drop me a review and/or save this story to your alerts and/or favorites, that will make me even happier and more likely to write the next chapter. If you feel like I'm taking to long to update this story, then feel free to friend me on facebook and bug me about it there. The link is in my profile.

PS: The symbols book I mentioned is real. It's on amazon.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Mrs. Hudson, you are truly the best," I said as she tidied up the place. "But are you sure I can stay here no charge? I can always find a job. It won't be too difficult for me."

She wiped the surfaces down with a cloth. "Dearie, nobody wants this flat. I was surprised when you said you did." I heard her chuckle. "Didn't think after you saw it you'd still want to live here. It really is a rundown little thing." We stood back and appraised it. The place was really rubbish. All the wallpaper was peeling, the floor needed a good sweep, and there was a chilly draft that came from the grimy window. "Tell you what," she said. "When you live here, if you could just spruce things up a bit, I'll take that as your rent. Deal?"

We shook on it. "Sounds good. Any chance you have a spare bed I could abscond with temporarily?" The floor looked highly unappealing.

"Sorry love, I've got nothing," she said. "I'll leave you to it then." She hurried out, the mustiness of the place most likely driving her away.

I moved around the place, inspecting the layout and seeing if there was anything I could utilize for the time being. All I found was a bucket, broom, and some moth-eaten curtains. There was a table, but it had only three legs so I labeled it as scrap wood. All in all, it was a depressing sight. I closed my eyes right and put my finger to either side of my temples. "Become clean," I said, then opened them. No change. My eyes closed once more. "Suddenly be fully furnished." I looked again and immediately sighed. "If this is a dream, why can't I manipulate it?"

In any case, I swept the place up, collecting a considerable pile of moldy wallpaper, cracking drywall, and bug carcasses. With nowhere else to put them, I gathered up the pile into the bucket, spilling it several times in the process. I checked off dustbin in the list of things I was beginning to miss about being awake. That right next to people who didn't act like asses the majority of the time.

I carried my bucket (which I had decided to dub Moffat just because I could), outside and did the London thing: throw it in the street with the rest of the rubbish. But I was sensible about it. I used my foot to sorta spread the droppings so they weren't in a big obvious pile that way it didn't exactly look like I had done what I had I just done. I was about to head right back inside when I saw John exiting from a taxi.

"You held onto the paint, didn't you?" I looked at him half scathingly, half bemusedly. "I told you not to do that."

He looked at me, squinting his eyes. "Wait, how did you..." He shook his head. "Never mind, I don't want to know. Is Sherlock in there?"

"Yeah, trying to decipher the code," I told him. "I wouldn't help so he told me to bugger off. Well, not in those precise terms, but you get the idea." I opened the door and gestured inside. "After you, doctor Watson." He nodded in appreciation and went in, me following close behind.

"You've been a while," Sherlock said as we entered the sitting room. He was looking at the mirror above the mantelpiece which was currently papered with notes and drawings.

"Yeah well you know how it is." John said, his anger not yet reached it's peak. He was still trying to contain it before his gasket really blew. "Custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they? Just formalities." The pacing was a dead giveaway. "Finger prints, charge sheet. And I've got to be in magistrate's court on Tuesday."

"What?" Sherlock was entirely unconcerned for his friend's plight, and I contemplated placing the bucket over his head and then whacking it with a hammer. John was his only friend, it wasn't much to expect some shred of compassion.

I promptly ignored them both, instead gathering/stealing some items I thought might be useful for my flat. Suddenly Sherlock appeared next to me, withdrawing the items and thrusting a coat into my hands. "Hey, I was doing something you know!"

"You can shop later," he said, shoving me out the door along with John. "And give me that." He took my bucket and tossed it aside.

"Hey, that's my _bucket_ thank you very much. Buckets are cool." I was going to reclaim it when he kicked it further away.

"No, you have to go to with John to Scotland Yard and get the journalist's diary." He helped me into the coat, which I allowed reluctantly. "If he goes by himself he's bound to screw something up. I need you there to make sure he doesn't." John gave his friend a dirty look. "I'll go to Van Coon's office and speak with his PA. If we retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide." He walked off, putting on his gloves as he went.

I looked at John in confusion, pointing after him. "I know, you get used to it." He got us a cab and we slid inside, me still incredibly irritated.

"John, you know how I told you earlier not to hold onto the paint?" I said, looking at him sideways. "It would be best if in your future you try not to make sarcastic comments of any kind whatsoever. It would be highly beneficial to your health." After this I fell silent, looking out the window as we drove off.

He looked at me expectantly, but I said nothing. "You gonna tell me why?"

"No."

"Of course. Why did I expect anything more?" It seemed his frustration had leaked out and now encompassed me as well. "You know, that's the problem with people like you and Sherlock. You never condescend to consider the feelings of others."

My head ticked robotically around to stare at him. He seemed woefully ignorant of this fact, so I "condescended" to enlighten him. "People like Sherlock and I?" My voice was a thicket of brambles and nettles. He looked at me casually, then did a fearful double take. "He and I are nothing alike. We resemble each other so little that it pains him to be in my company. Why do you suppose he made you that cheap excuse and had me come with you? It's because he didn't want me coming with him and polluting the air with my stupidity." John seemed to press himself further and further away from me, my fury reaching radioactive amounts. "So before you class me with his arrogance and conceit, consider that I would rather walk around Buckingham Palace bellowing out the lyrics to 'Stayin Alive' wearing nothing but a sheet, then  
deign to pass him his coffee."

At this John blanched, and neither of us spoke a word the whole ride to Scotland Yard. I returned to the water cooler the moment the opportunity presented itself, thoroughly put out by John to do anything else. I sipped at the tepid water until Donovan returned, this time with Anderson and a few other colleagues.

"Hi, I'm Sally from earlier. What did you say your name was again?" She feigned politeness, but I could tell all of them were only here to see if the rumors she had most likely been perpetuating were true. That someone had indeed gotten off with Sherlock Holmes. But she was unlucky. Because right now, I wasn't going to take her shit.

"I didn't," I said, glaring at them all in turn. "I'm sorry, but I don't feel much like getting stared at by you lot. If you want to gawk at me, please do it from a distance that doesn't make it obvious. Makes it seem less creepy that way." When they didn't move, I closed my eyes in frustration. "Alright, I'll say it once but I won't say it again. His bed is supremely comfortable, and I'm sure you don't need me to imagine exactly how that heightens the experience. I've never spent time with him like I had anyone else. Nobody can even compare to the vigor with which we battled. And yes, it's big." I held the cup aloft emptied the water onto the floor in front of them defiantly, watching as the liquid speckled their shoes. Granted that wasn't the most mature of actions, but there was no mud handy. I balanced the cup on Anderson's head. "Satisfied?"

I walked away in disgust. It amazed me that people really did that sort of thing.

"Freak," she called after me. Last straw.

I turned heel but did not approach. "Better then being an adulterer. Would you like some scarlet to go with that A?" Both her and Anderson pursed their lips. "Don't worry though. I think you two deserve each other." I traced an outline of a heart over the left side of my chest in mock approval. They shifted uncomfortably, their co-workers  
oblivious to the stab I just made to the two.

Turning back I saw John waiting for me, and I smiled implicitly. It was hard to stay angry at him. I clapped him on the back. "Have I ever told you how nice you are?"

He looked at me with uncertainty. "No, but we haven't known each other long so that's hardly surprising."

"John Watson, you are the nicest person to see after one has just had to deal with a violent bout of pettiness and idiocy. Being in your company, I know I can expect neither." I looked at him seriously for a moment. "Please forgive my outburst earlier. It was unprofessional and totally uncalled for." I smiled jovially.

"Uh, sure." He seemed reassured but was still confused. "Don't mention it." We made our way outside and climbed into a cab.

"Piccadilly, please." I instructed the driver.

"How did you know it was... never mind." He seemed resigned to my odd ability to know what to say or do before he could. I felt a little bad, because I only knew that since I also knew how this episode went. "By the way, I saw you were talking to some people when we were there." It was a statement he made, which had an implied question I chose not to answer. "Well?"

"Well what John?" I asked with a laugh. "It was an office. There are people. I was having a drink and they wanted to chat. Are you telling me you read some kind of deep meaning into it?"

"Not deep per se, no." He looked at me knowingly. "But one of them was the same one who you talked you earlier when we were here with Sherlock. Not to mention she absolutely despises him. I just figured your conversion might have been interesting, that's all." He was trying to pry without sounding like he was trying to pry. John did always have a knack for the subtle that his friend could never possess.

"Well, I didn't really say much." I was trying to dodge the subject. Albeit it was very half-hearted dodge.

"As you walked away she called you a freak," John said. "If I was being mean, which I'm not, I would mention that's usually what she calls Sherlock." He eyed me, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

My eyes narrowed, and he seemed apprehensive for a moment. A smile split across my face, and I punched him in the arm. "Alright, you got me." He relaxed visibly. This was why Sherlock liked John. He was ever so easy to read. There was something inherently unassuming about his nature, a quiet yet blatant sign of trustworthiness and loyalty. "Although I didn't really say much, I implied the hell out of several statements."

He looked at me with an eyebrow raised. "And what does that mean?"

"Well," I said, feigning a tone of uncertainty. "I can't be quite sure, but I think Sergeant Donovan assumed that Sherlock and I had an encounter of a distinctly romantic variety." He took one look at me and we both burst out into giggles. "But I think you know how unlikely that is," I said, out of breath from the laughter. I took to looking out the window again.

"Maybe not that unlikely," he muttered to himself, watching as my eyes surveyed our surroundings.

"Hmm?" I had only been half listening to him, and didn't quite catch what he said.

"I said we're almost at Piccadilly."

* * *

Hehe, Benedict Cumberbatch in a sheet.

If you liked this and want to see more, drop me a review. If you do drop me a review and/or save this story to your alerts and/or favorites, that will make me even happier and more likely to write the next chapter. If you feel like I'm taking to long to update this story, then feel free to friend me on facebook and bug me about it there. The link is in my profile.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

We met up with Sherlock quickly, making our way down to the Lucky Cat Emporium as soon as Sherlock stopped interrupting John. It took a cough or two from me to get him to listen. Sometimes I wondered if he ever stops to actually look at people's reactions when he's talking to them.

"You want, lucky cat?" The lady behind the counter asked John.

"No thanks, no," he assured her. I glanced at him briefly then chuckled. He gave me a look that said 'oh shut up'.

"Ten pound, ten pound." She insisted, holding the waving sculpture aloft. "I think your wife," she said, gesturing to me. "She will like."

"That is, uh, well, we're not married." He glanced at me nervously and I smiled. "We are just friends," he clarified. "Right?"

"Just friends," I told the lady.

"Oh, my mistake," she said knowingly, nodding her head. "Please forgive." She turned to look at Sherlock. "Your wife," she said again, gesturing to me. "She will like." Once more she held the cat out for purchase.

I nearly choked. "No," I said, doubled over in laughter. "No no no, no. We," I pointed at he and I, are in no way married. Hell no." The two men stared at me as I had my little moment, still giggling like mad. "Married to Sherlock Holmes," I wiped a year away from eye. "How deliciously absurd."

"Absurd?" Sherlock said, about to go off on me.

He was not going to interrupt my conniptions, I wasn't nearly done. "Take this you idiot," I said, handing him one of the tea cups with the price tag. "It's hangzhou, go on, take a look." He plucked it out of my fingers and studied it, eyes narrowing in concentration. My laughter continued unabated. "Oh God, I need some fresh air." I left the shop, still immensely satisfied at the joke. Indeed, whenever I should become depressed I must think on it again.

Left to my own devices, Sherlock explained what the numbers represented, and John figured out one of the numbers was fifteen. They decided to grab a bite, which calmed me down as I realized my own hunger. Didn't think I could get hungry in dreams. Yet another reason to suspect something was up.

"Two men travel back from China, both head straight for the Lucky Cat Emporium." John paused for a moment, fiddling with his pen. "What did they see?"

"Not saw John," I said, mouth full of bread. "Brought back." The waitress brought John his food, Sherlock opting out of a meal. "Fink about it," I told him. He gave me a blank stare. "Oh my God, fine." I finished chewing and swallowed. "Don't stop me Sherlock, cuz this is gonna be clever," I said, wiggling my eyebrows.

"Before you stop, are you mad?" He asked me calmly.

"Course I am, everyone is. I just embrace it more then others. Now stuff it." I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. "Van Coon would lose five million and make it back in a week, how else you think he did that? Smuggling. Coon takes frequent business trips, and the journalist also, writing about China for his job. They would smuggle stuff out, bring it to the Lucky Cat as a drop off. But the question is, why did they die? If they did as told, why were both threatened and killed? That's obvious, because one of them stole something. But the killer doesn't know who did it so he or she threatened them both. Simple." I scarfed down some more bread, savoring the doughy texture. I didn't even realize they were staring again until I resurfaced for  
air. "What?"

"That," John said, pointing at me with his fork. "Was amazing. Sherlock, wasn't that amazing?" He looked at his friend pointedly.

Sherlock ignored him and instead looked outside. "Remind me, when was the last time that it rained?" He got to his feet and I followed, shoving some bread in my pockets before we left. John followed briefly after taking a second to lament the incompletion of his lunch. Sherlock made his way across the street and to the flat sheet Soo Lin Yao lived, phone book drenched outside. "It's been here since Monday." He rang the doorbell. Receiving no response, he walked around to the  
other side. "No one's been in that flat for at least three days."

"Could have gone on holiday,"John reasoned.

"Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?" Sherlock countered him, examining the fire escape. He jumped up and lowered it. Then I suddenly recalled what happened next and began to worry.

I quickly tried following him, hoping to prevent it, but he was a hair too fast. "Damn," I muttered, and ran around to the front. "Come on John, help me break down the door." I looked at it and tried to bust it down. "John, aren't you going to help?"

"Helen, people will stare and someone will phone the police. You can't go around breaking doors down." He put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, I get frustrated too. All the time in fact."

I rubbed my head. "Oh John, I wish you weren't so bloody reasonable. It makes my head hurt." Pacing back and forth, I had an epiphany. John was being calm, but I wasn't. That means someone had to get mad at Sherlock Holmes or they just might take the real one when it came down to it. But why did it have to be _me_?

"Look at me everyone!" I shouted as loud as I could. "I'm Sherlock Holmes! Bit of a shock isn't it, a woman and all, but that is the genius of it all, because you see, I am a genius who can do whatever the _hell _she pleases." I began to prance around the front of the flat. "Look at me! Nobody can compete with this girl and the smartness I  
got! I WILL BLIND YOU WITH SCIENCE!" John visited a hand on my mouth, as people had begun to give me funny looks.

"Sorry, it's been a long day and she hasn't had her medication yet." He gave a good natured look and they walked away. "Have you gone mad? Just wait for him."

I relaxed and he let go. "Is that what you do then? Wait for him?" My aggravated state may have dissipated, but I was still plenty angry to spare. "You know John, one day you'll be waiting and he won't come back." I didn't want to say the words, but I couldn't help myself. And I hated myself for every word that came out, regretting them instantly. "He won't. You'll be left behind, because he's either found something more interesting or will be just plain dead." I turned around. "I'll be back at Baker Street, tell him to be careful, and try and not and get himself killed, eh?" And with that I left, catching the nearest taxi available back.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I didn't know why.

Sherlock appeared moments later from the door, out of breath and paler then usual. He told John everything he figured out, from the washing to the milk. He only deviated from what I had watched when he noticed my absence. "Where's Helen gone?" He asked, looking past John. "Did she find something?"

"No, she said she was going back home," John filled him in. "And there was something about you."

"What, what was it?" Sherlock asked quickly. "Did she decipher some part of the code?"

"No, nothing like that," John said. "She just told me to tell you, be more careful and try not to die. That was it."

"Nothing more?" He asked, almost disappointed.

"Well, she said a lot of stuff, must of it directed at me I think. But that bit was for you." John sighed quietly. "So are we off then?"

"Yes, let's go."

"I just can't understand him Mrs. Hudson," I said, heaving a carpet down the narrow stairs. "Sometimes he's fun to listen to, and other times I just want to clock him." My hands dropped the rug once I made it down. She followed behind, letting me vent my frustrations to her. "It's like he's got a filter over his eyes, and every time someone  
steps in front of that filter, they immediately get labeled as useless, stupid, or interesting. I've got the strangest feeling mine jumps between the three." I dragged the large rug into my flat, laying it out in the middle of the sitting room.

"Don't worry dear, things could be worse," she said. "He could have labeled you as both useless and stupid, and then where would you be? He could drive you up the wall if he treated you like that." She patted my arm, the second person to do so today.

"You're right," I muttered begrudgingly. "Doesn't mean I'm still not angry at him. He's so needlessly reckless, it's maddening. If he could exercise a little caution, everything would be so much better." I unfurled the carpet, listing it cover the nasty wood beneath it. "I  
need him," I said quietly.

"Did you just say you need him?" Mrs. Hudson looked at me expectantly.

"What?" I looked at her in bewilderment. "No, of course not. I said the world needs him, not me. God no. Wherever did you get that idea? That's preposterous." I smoothed the wrinkles in the fabric out, avoiding her gaze. "If he dies, that will be a loss to the world, not me." I didn't say that. Me, say I need him? The idea was indeed  
ridiculous. He was the world's biggest ass and I was in a dream. Such things do not happen.

"How about I show you some of my spare chairs," she said. "There's a room full of stuff my old tenants have left behind. I meant to rid of some the pieces but, I wasn't in any particular rush. Would you like to come?"

"Gladly," I said, understanding the word more intensely then I had ever done before. She led me to a room crammed with all manner of junk, stacked upon each other and occasionally in each other.

She took one look and her face fell little. "Oh dear, I don't remember this much extra stuff. How about I make you a cuppa?" She bustled away, clearly thinking that if anything fell, better on I then her.

"Time to dig in," I murmured to myself. And indeed, I dove. There were some clear objectives in mind for myself. First and most importantly, a place to sleep. There were no needs in here, but I thought I spotted a couch that looked suitable. Unfortunately it was blocked by a mountain of other things, but I wasn't willing to settle for the other  
couch. It was less difficult to reach, but looked a little shoddy.

"Will you be alright?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "There's quite a lot in there."

"I'll be fine," I called back. "You wouldn't happen to have a pair of gloves and a torch would you?" It was a little dark in some places, and the gloves just made me feel more safe in case I accidentally touched something disgusting.

"Oh yes, just one moment." She fetched me a pair and a handheld touch. "Will that do?"

"Perfectly, thank you so much." I gripped the touch in between my teeth and started clearing a small path through the mess. She left me to it, not keen on the job. I want keen on it either, but I need it a hell of a lot more then she did. After about twenty minutes or so I had already path cleared, and soon I uncluttered the room by removing certain objects, including several lamps, two side tables, a coffee table, three folding chairs, a wall clock, and a wingback chair that I grew very attached to. And it amazed me that I had still barely put a dent in it. That and the couch was just as out of reach as it ever was.

"That's quite a collection you've got going," Mrs. Hudson told me, coming by to visit. She brought a sandwich, which I eyed hungrily. "Here you are," she says, handing it to me.

It was gone within seconds. "Mrs Hudson, that was so delicious. You've absolutely no idea."

She laughed at me. "Well I can imagine. I suspect after working for four hours straight, you might get a little peckish."

"Four hours?" I asked incredulously. "Have I really been working for that long?" No wonder I felt so tired.

"Yes, and no break too." She looked at me for a moment. "There now, let me make you another one." She hurried off leaving me behind to run my eyes in exhaustion.

I might as well take some of it down to my flat. Guess I was sleeping in the wingback for tonight. It took me a few minutes to bring most of it down, never mind arrange it all into a coherent floor plan. That would have to wait.

"Here's the sandwich I promised." She handed me another, which I received gratefully. "You know, they're back now," she informed me. I nodded, not wanting to indicate any plans to move for the foreseeable future. "They'll most likely be in for the night." I nodded again. "Looks like they've got a lot on their plate right now." Another nod. "Probably won't be using their beds." My head whipped around, looking at her wide eyed. "Come on," she says, gesturing upstairs. "I'll tell them they have to let you because you've been so helpful to me."

I jumped up eagerly. "Mrs. Hudson, you are the saintliest person I have ever met in my entire life, and that includes the pope."

"You've met the pope?" She asked me with interest.

"Of course not, but he would never make me a sandwich and suggest to me an action with which to annoy Sherlock on the same day."

How are all my splendiforous readers this morning? I'm doing fucking fantastic thanks. Sorry, this is the sleep deprivation talking. Much love to you all~!

If you liked this and want to see more, drop me a review. If you do drop me a review and/or save this story to your alerts and/or favorites, that will make me even happier and more likely to write the next chapter. If you feel like I'm taking to long to update this story, then feel free to friend me on facebook and bug me about it there. The link is in my profile.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Sleep," John groaned, casting a bleary eye at his flatmate. Sherlock had kept him up, insisting that he help try and crack the code. "Did you know Sherlock, that people who get more sleep have on average less health problems later in life?"

"Boring," he muttered back. His eyes scanned the photographs critically. There had to be some revelation hidden in the symbols. If only he could make the connection... "We know that this is a message from the smugglers. If we find out what it says, it could lead us straight to them. We just need Soo Lin Yao." A light knocking resounded from their door. "Come in Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock called.

"Miss me?" I said, waltzing in unabashedly. "Trying to crack the code, fascinating stuff that. But you do know that it will be impossible to solve it without Soo Lin Yao, right?" I crept up behind Sherlock, peeking over his shoulder at the pictures strewn about the table.

"John and I have already established that fact, yes." He made every attempt to ignore my prying. "However, are you aware that this is in fact our flat and not yours? From your constant presence, most would assume the opposite." His eyes were focused firmly on his work. "Besides, double checking the books can't hurt our chances."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" I prompted him. He glanced at me in disdain. "As for my presence, that will soon be rectified. Tonight however, I am commandeering the use of your bed, as I seem to have a curious lack of one." I flounced onto the sofa and settled myself in. "Don't mind me, I shan't disrupt your vital and demanding concentration on a cipher that you cannot solve. One might say however that such work, when concerning undeniable impossibility, lends itself to distraction." I smiled contentedly.

"And who's to say I should allow you to quarter yourself in my room, depriving me of its usage?" Sherlock was now turned to me, gaze unflinching.

"As your landlady, that is my decision," Mrs. Hudson said, patting him on the shoulder. "This young lady has done me an incredible service today, so sparing your bed for one night shouldn't be much of a burden, will it Sherlock?" Her tone possessed that motherly cadence of finality, signaling the futility of any further argument. "Come on Sherlock, it's only for tonight."

He looked pointedly away from the both of us, taking a deep breath while he composed his reply. I decided to not give him the satisfaction. "You know Mr. Holmes, during these times when I am so desperately in need of such basic commodities like a bed and tea, I find myself prone to a peculiar looseness of the tongue. Who knows, most likely my carelessness on this part stems from my concern elsewhere, and I may even make the mistake of indulging your curiosity if you see fit as to gently probe my mind." My voice was relaxed, but my eyes only heightened the tension that palpitated the air as he and I began the great staring match of the century.

"Mrs. Hudson," he said after a heavy pause. "Would you be so kind as to provide our honoured guest with a cup of tea?" He made a pathetic attempt at politeness, smiling painfully as he did so. I hadn't had this much fun in a long while, making someone who liked acting so superior bow and scrape while what feeble pride they had left withered in a pool of defeat.

"Just this once, but no more Sherlock. I'm not your housekeeper." She left us to our childish face off.

Indeed, it seemed as if we were dueling in a merciless battle of wits. So much did we regress into this state, I wondered if it was possible to escape. The real kicker in this match was quite simple however; I wasn't really playing. He could try and decode each raised eyebrow and smirk, the way I shifted position every few moments, but he would time  
and time again fall to comprehend any deeper meaning simply because there wasn't one. My enjoyment of the situation derived from that fact. He was just wasting his time with me, concocting up some conspiracy no doubt I figured into perfectly. However, I cannot lie and say that this didn't make me a at least a little bit crestfallen. Here I was dreaming away vicariously, and there he was, too good to be real and too annoying to be fake. It made me feel guilty, because the worst thing one could do to Sherlock Holmes would be too waste his time. I sighed inwardly. I always did have the knack for being a good old fashioned spoil-sport.

"Hamish," John said suddenly. Simultaneously we both turned to look at him, momentary confusion glazing over both of our faces. "Just in case you guys needed a good baby name. Hamish might not be good for a first, but it could be a fairly decent middle name. I mean, it is my middle name, so..." he trailed off as we both gave him an unamused look.

"John, you really shouldn't make jokes. They aren't your strongest suit." I smiled after this to let him know I was no longer angry at him. "By the way, disregard anything I may have said to you today. If this habit of mine persists, please feel free to retaliate as needed." Mrs. Hudson returned, tea on a tray. "Thank you." I removed two of the cups, handing one to Sherlock. She had made enough for everyone. "Do you have any sugar?" She indicated a small dish with a spoon sticking out of it. "Most appreciated."

I mixed in no small amount of the granules, spoon clanking against the sides. There was a small pitcher of milk, which I also poured in, letting the tea turn a light brown. I took a long sip with closed eyes and smiled with satisfaction. My eyes opened and Sherlock was right in front of me, staring unashamedly. "Could you be, you know, normal for a second, and back off?" It was beginning to feel slightly more uncomfortable then before. That said, he didn't move an inch. "I will not hesitate to punch your skinny ass, so I think it in your best interest to move now."

Watson and Mrs. Hudson quietly left the room, both willing themselves into ignorance at our queer standoff. Couldn't blame them. I wouldn't want to intervene in a situation like this.

When they had both left, he began to speak. "I find myself strangely disconcerted, Ms. Richardson. It is difficult to tell who you are exactly, and I have decided that this feeling is not one I like or wish to be repeated every again. Do you understand me?" His voice was dangerously low in pitch, but I didn't really care. I could feel his douchiness about to permeate the atmosphere.

"Oh I understand completely Mr. Holmes," I assured him. "But I am amazed that you would admit to such a thing. Indeed, not being able to deduce anything about me must be terribly frightening." A smirk tugged at my lips, wanting to mock him brazenly.

"Don't think so highly of yourself," he said in disgust. My pre-emptive smirk disappeared. "I can read your family problems in your hair, your work history by your left foot, and past relationships from the way you cross your legs. That takes mere nanoseconds to conclude. But you are full of contradictions, and that is what I cannot dissect. If you truly were grieving over the death of your boyfriend, then why have you become so irritatingly invested in the affairs of this flat? When I continue to insist upon the low regard with which I hold your character, why do you not leave in defiance? And after all that, I still do not not know how you came to be in our flat, knew so much about its inner workings and occupants, and have meddled in the on goings of my life since that time, even taking the effort to ingratiate yourself with Mrs. Hudson?" His face was inches from mine, and his whole body seemed to quiver. "Why?" His locks seemed to shake with the intensity of his frustration.

His questions made sense if one considered that this was real, but I wasn't about to break the illusion. This may have been a dream to me, but the part of him that my subconscious created didn't overlook any detail of his personality. Sherlock was had an annoying knack for futile perspicacity. And while I gathered that, it didn't mean I was going to back down from this fight.

"Go on then Mr. Holmes," I said, standing up. "You feel the need to break me down and prove to yourself you can be Mr. Genius, then go right ahead." I opened up my arms in a challenge. "Lay it on me. I'm ready. And don't hold back, it's no fun that way." I eyed him expectantly. "Go on."

His lip curled. "Your hair has traces of artificial colour, a result of home treatment. You don't maintain it, as the dye is quite old and your natural hair colour is encroaching on the dyed portion by several inches, so you don't really care about how it looks, therefore, it wasn't your idea to begin with. Was it a sister? No, she would most likely force you to undergo the treatment again. Same with the mother, the most likely instigator is a cousin. However, you do keep your hair clean and well kept for, despite how little you personally value it. This means you maintain it because someone asked you to. It can't be a sister, as she would have just made you colour it again, but it can't be the cousin because you don't see cousins as often as other family members. So it's most likely your mother, who probably agreed to the  
colouring because she thought it would peak your interest in other aspects of grooming. You only invest in the minimum of effort otherwise she would scold you for it, something you resent as you are a capable adult. So, it's the classic mother/daughter rivalry afoot. She, overprotective and concerned, you, rebellious and indifferent. In this, you sought comfort from your father who was far more intuned with your personality. Such as these things do, it drove a wedge  
between your parents, and they eventually divorced. Must be nice, being the cause of their breakup. Now as to your job history-"

_Slap!_

I didn't slap him softly either. He actually stumbled to the side slightly, more likely out of shock then sheer force, but I don't hold back. My hand stung and turned red, tingling from the contact. His cheek faced me, yet he didn't dare look back at me.

"Sherlock Holmes, you can deduce the facts from me all bloody long day, but don't you dare make assumptions about me and my emotions. You don't know me, so don't pretend to." My words were snarled, and if I were a cat I'd have hissed at him. His head turned back to me slowly, eyes still cold, as cold as metal during winter, and he didn't flinch once. Neither did I. "Now, of you'd like to continue, please proceed. But if you could take a care as to do so with tact and caution, then the entire process might in fact go a bit more smoothly."

He paused for a moment, then spoke slowly. "Was I right?" His voice was soft, thinking that if he said it gently it would constitute as tactful. "About your family, I mean."

"No, I bitch slapped you because you were wrong." I picked up my tea and took a long drink. "Of course you were right you insufferable prat. I only got angry because you overstepped your bounds." My feet carried me away from his stoic form. "Now go on, I know you're dying to analyse the rest of me."

He stood still for a moment, not wanting to incur my wrath once more. "Are you sure? I wouldn't wish to offend your delicate sensibilities by my merciless dichotomy. Few people can walk away from them and still deign to be in my presence." He turned to me, arching his eyebrow.

"Do. Your. _Worst_." I looked at him playfully, sheathing my talons for the moment while the two of us spent the rest of the night in conversation.

* * *

FOR THE LORD GOD OMNIPOTENT REIGNETH! Good evening my dear readers. I know it has been quite some time since my last update, but I also know that you will review anyway because you love me. Nudge nudge, wink wink, know what I mean?

Dear Kierkegaard this took forever to write. I can't wait until I'm done with this episode and onto the next, because it is seriously a drag. And plus, I'm planning something extra special for the next episode. (Eyebrow wiggle) I'm so excited, you guys are gonna hate me. Muahahaha!

If you liked this and want to see more, drop me a review. If you do drop me a review and/or save this story to your alerts and/or favorites, that will make me even happier and more likely to write the next chapter. If you feel like I'm taking to long to update this story, then feel free to friend me on facebook and bug me about it there. The link is in my profile.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Two men who travelled back from China were murdered, and the killer left their messages in hangzhou numerals," Sherlock said. We went back to Soo Lin Yao's work, hoping to find any more information concerning her whereabouts. Although I did kinda feel guilty since I already knew where she was, but I played along since I wasn't supposed to and part of me felt like my presence was somehow shifting the story off its intended course.

"Soo Lin Yao is in danger." John stood there with his arms crossed. "Now that cipher, it was just the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well." The way we were ganging up on this poindexter made me feel like we were his parents trying to keep him off the computer.

"Look, I've tried everywhere. Um, friends, colleagues, I-I don't know where she's gone. I mean she could be a thousand miles away." I swear, he was about to wet himself from how intimidating we making ourselves out to be.

"What are you looking at?" John had noticed Sherlock's attention was strangely focused away from us and onto the display case of teapots. My own eyes had been flickering toward them the entire time.

"You, sonny boy, tell us more about these pots." I pointed at them as we migrated closer.

"Th-the pots were her obsession. Um, they need urgent work. If, if they dry out the clay can start to crumble. Apparently you just have to keep making tea in them." All I could think about when he talked was how much he just needed to get laid.

Sherlock crouched down to their level and examined them critically. "Yesterday only one of those pots was shining." When he said "pots" the p was explosive, like he was trying to make it emphatic. "Now there are two." He got to his feet. "We'll need access to the building after closing hours. Shouldn't be too hard to manage. All you need to do is make sure that the employee entrance is unlocked. Can you do that?"

"Well, I-I could leave later after everyone else is gone..." He fidgeted nervously.

"Excellent." Sherlock began to leave, and John and I followed him. "She'll come out late at night to make the tea, and then we can ask our questions." He was walking out rather quickly, but didn't realize that it resident nerd still had a question.

"Sherlock, wait," I said, pulling on his coat.

He turned around. "What?" Then he noticed the look on the man's face. "Looking for her now would be ill advised, she's in hiding and if we seek her out she will most likely run or fight back. It would be a matter of seconds before she mistook us as those pursuing her."

"Are you sure there is nothing I can do?" He looked so hopeless and dejected. I knew he had liked her, but I didn't realize it was this sincere.

"No. You'll just get in the way." And of course, the morning couldn't really start until Sherlock's complete and utter insincerity penetrated every ray of sunshine with its gloom and drowned every new born puppy using his dirty bathwater.

So I smacked on the back of the head.

He looked at me. "Not good?"

"Ya think?" I said in exasperation. "Sometimes you can be so thick." I walked over to the guy who looked sheepish. "Listen, I know you like her," I said, and he stared up at me in confusion. "Don't ask, it's not important. Anyway, you like her right?" He nodded. "Alright, you also know she's in danger, and she's been hiding and most likely very hungry." Tea could only take you so far...

"I don't understand," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and turning his eyes downward again.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and scoffed. I paused, went over to smack him on the back of the head again, then returned. "Ignore him. What you should do is lay out a bit of food for her so when she emerges she has something to eat. Does that make sense?" This guy needed everything spoon fed to him.

"Y-yes." His shoulders hunched over themselves in a defeated manner.

"Hey, look at me." I had to virtually lift his chin so he would make eye contact. "Whatever she said to you, just think that she might have said it in your protection." I was bull shitting this part, but I had to make him feel at least a little better about himself. "Soo Lin Yao is a kind person, that's why you liked her, right? There is nothing worse for kind people then to think they caused someone else pain." He looked at me like I was a lifeline. Dude, could you be more awkward?

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Apologies, but we really must be going." I mentally sighed, but broke away. "Thank you for all the help you've been," Sherlock said. He gave a little smile. "Let's go." The three of us left, heading back to Baker street. It was a quiet ride, but not tense. Sherlock and I had expunged most of our pent up angst towards each other during the night. Oh dear God that sounded bad. Let me clarify: we spent the night in deep conversation. There, that sounds better.

When we made our way inside, I made a motion to return to my own flat, but found my path blocked by Sherlock. Seeing this, John promptly moved upstairs with haste.

"Is there something I can help you with?" I asked, tilting my head to one side. "Because if not there is a couch I need to retrieve for my flat so I don't have to crash at your place. But if you insist on interrupting me, then by all means go right on ahead. I have no qualms about stealing your bedroom for another night." Damn it! Everything I was saying lately sounded like an bloody innuendo.

"I am correct in deducing that you were angered by my lack of compassion at the museum earlier." Sherlock didn't even make an attempt at feigning he could be wrong. Oh no, he was correct. Not could be, or might be. He just stood there, looking his nose down at me with his popped collar and blue scarf.

I rubbed my forehead. "No Sherlock, not angry per se. Irritated would be more accurate. Although if you haven't applied the concepts we talked about last night, at least you bothered enough to recognize them. I guess I couldn't hold your attention span long enough for you to absorb that last tidbit." I put my hands on my heart in mock offense. "Gentlemen are so hard to find these days." He seemed mollified, so I moved again to my flat.

Once more I was blocked. "If I pledge my time later in helping you, will you accompany me upstairs?" Sherlock was being persistent. I figured he wouldn't let me go until I said yes, so I decided to milk the situation for all it worth.

"What's the magic word?" I teased him, a smile playing openly on both corners of my mouth.

He was taken aback. "I do not pretend to comprehend your meaning." I stared at him in disbelief, mouth hanging slightly agape. "Helen, you  
know that oftentimes open mouths invite themselves to have flies and the like swoop in and catch you unawares?"

I snapped it shut. "I'm just trying to gauge whether or not you told the truth or were just joking." My eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Joking?" By this time he was equally befuddled.

"Or you could have been lying to avoid saying it!" I said suddenly, pointing my finger intently at him. "You do know what the magic word is, admit it!" My eyebrows were nearly at my hairline they were raised so high.

"What is this magic word you keep going on about?" Sherlock was either acting genuinely ignorant, or he could really not know...

John came back down the stairs, dressed for work. He was nearly laughing. "Helen, you should know that he doesn't know that word. He thinks himself above it, and hence believes it's usage below him." John buttoned up his jacket.

"Could the two of you relate to me what this infernal word it is you keep referring to?" Sherlock was looking back and forth between the two of us, wringing his hands in exasperation.

"Oh God, of course." I began to shake my head in understanding. "Well, until he figures it out, I'm not moving from this spot." My arms crossed themselves as I leaned against the hall wall. "You'll be back in time for the museum, right?"

"Course I will," he said. He opened the door and looked back at us. "Sherlock, you might want to try your hand at courtesy. Helen, try not to kill him as he fails at courtesy." John tipped his head to us and was off, shutting the door firmly behind him.

It was silent for a moment while I purposely ignored Sherlock. I let my eyes wander all around the landing, taking in the wonderful wallpaper and gorgeous crown moulding. He didn't say anything, so I looked at his shoes and slowly made my way up. It excited me just a little bit as I did so, I mean, he WAS Sherlock Holmes being played by Benedict Cumberbatch. Finally my sight reached his face, and those damn cheekbones. It would be perfect if he just wasn't a complete jerk.

"Problem?" he asked me casually. Neither one of us had moved a centimetre.

"Not at all," I said with a nasty smile. If only he could move.

"So this word the two of you were referring to," he began. "Would you perhaps care to share this information with persons in close proximity to you?"

"I think you know what it is," I reiterated. "Maybe you don't remember, but I'm sure you've used it at least once in your life. And if not that, you have to understand its meaning, and the repercussions that can befall you of one does not use it." There was no way I was breaking before he did.

He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. I assumed he was delving into the vast capacities of his memory. I also closed my eyes, humming style nonsense melody while I waited for him. He however, was a very sore loser, I just didn't realize that at the time I closed my eyes. Mere seconds after humming, I found myself over his shoulder like a sack of vegetables.

"You cheeky dick waffle!" I squirmed and kicked at him. "Let me down you purveyor of pestilence, you harbinger of harlotry, you cesspool of contagion!" My body jerked as he carried me like I was no more weight then a rag doll.

"Escape at this point would be idiotic," he informed me calmly. "If you weren't paying attention, I am currently walking up a flight of stairs. To fall now would most certainly cause your own death. Unless your intention is suicide, it would be most prudent to remain still." He was bloody enjoying this!

"You are the biggest bastard the world has ever known," I growled. "The next time you go to the dentist, I hope he pulls out your teeth. Then maybe you'd shut up and learn some human decency."

We reached the top. "Human decency, how utterly boring." I yelped as he adjusted me and my whole body bounced slightly. "If everyone practiced human decency, I would be out of a job." We made it into their sitting room, but I was still on his shoulder.

"Okay, you can let me down now." My arms and legs hung limply as I waited. "Come on, I'm in your flat, you've got what you wanted. Now let me go."

"What's the magic word?" he asked nonchalantly.

I glowered openly. "Don't you turn that on me Mr. Holmes, I am not amused." I let my limbs flail once more. "Could you be any more of an ass if you tried?"

I heard the laugh rumble through his body and knew it was hopeless. Either I could tell him, or learn to live the rest of my life on his shoulder. It was time to throw in the towel.

"You want to know what the word is?" I asked in defeat. He didn't say anything, so I figured I'd just answer. "The word is 'please'. Now, please let me down. I'm sure you're starting to lose circulation in your arm." After a pause he let me down, slowly so I wasn't jolted unexpectedly. I brushed off and smoothed my clothes. "Thank you." I looked back at him, and was startled to see his face. There was something off, some emotion in him I couldn't place. Whatever, I didn't really care. He could go on disliking me as long as he wanted, but I wasn't going away.

Instead, I'd make him pay.

"Now Sherlock Holmes, you will accompany me back downstairs." It wasn't so much a request as a demand. "I accompanied you up here, now you will pledge your time to extricating the sofa." My eyes gleamed at the prospect. Making the Sherlock Holmes perform manual labour. Hah, I laughed at the very thought.

He stood there solemnly. "No," he said, then quickly retreated to his chair to read the newspaper.

"Sherlock Holmes, take some responsibility!" And I spent the remainder of my day shouting at a silent figure, whose only response was an occasional smirk. Dick...

* * *

What up my lovely readers? I'd like to take some time to clarify certain aspects of this story, either because someone may have mentioned it in a review or I just wanted to make it obvious.

First, yes this is an OC story and the summary says she's paired with Sherlock, but please realize that it is going to take forever for them to get together. I mean, really, forever. FOREVER! Hehe, yeah, a long time. I might even change the summary so it says eventual OC/Sherlock.

Second, I know how awesome you guys think Helen is, but before someone says it, she isn't a Mary Sue. Yes, she knows everything that's going to happen and APPEARS smarter then Sherlock, but she isn't. She's only so cool and smart because she knows what's going on before it actually happens. So there.

Third, I will never abandon this story forever. Trust me, it will be finished one day. I love to update.

And last, and this is for my own benefit not yours, but I love it when you guys quote my story in your reviews. Seriously, those are the best kind. Why? Because it lets me know exactly what you find so darn funny. Believe me, any humour you guys find is unintentional. I just write what I think sounds good and witty, and if by consequence it's funny, then that's great! It's nice to know I have some capability in that area, even if by accident.

If you liked this and want to see more, drop me a review. If you do drop me a review and/or save this story to your alerts and/or favorites, that will make me even happier and more likely to write the next chapter. If you feel like I'm taking to long to update this story, then feel free to friend me on facebook and bug me about it there. The link is in my profile.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Usually my notes go at the end, but I just wanted to quickly thank all the people who got my HUA reference. I've been dying to write it in the moment I began this story. And let's face it, he is a cheeky dick waffle. Now, on with the plot!

Chapter 11

It was much later in the afternoon, and I had still failed to even reach the sofa, let alone move it past the wreckage Mrs. Hudson called storage. After failing with Sherlock, I realised that if I didn't do it now it would never get done. That said, even after several hours of cleaning I was still no closer to my objective then when I had started. If only he wasn't being an incorrigible ass, I might be able to get out of his way. But no, he apparently wanted to make things harder for the both of us by leaving me with no place to sleep but their place.

"Do you need some help?" a voice behind me asked.

I inhaled sharply, turning around to see no more but the man himself. "You are an evil, conniving son of a bitch. I hope you know that." He only came to tell me he was leaving. It was so clear, I mean he had his coat collar turned up and his blue scarf on for goodness sake. "Don't let me keep you from your urgent appointment."

"You're not coming with?" he says, brow furrowing in confusion. Did he honestly expect me to come with? And why would he wasn't me to come anyway?

"No Sherlock, I'm not coming with. Can't you see I'm busy?" I gestured to the messy room. "I do need a place to sleep at night, and as comfortable as your bed is I'm not keen on staying there, thank you very much." I clambered out of the mess and to the doorway where he was standing. "Now run along. I've got work to do. Not to mention after this, a job to find."

"So do it later. I don't see what the problem is." Of course he didn't. But I couldn't tell him that even in my dreams I was trying to be practical enough to get a job. Or at least in this dream, as scarily realistic as it was.

"If I do it later, I will be forced to sleep on the floor!" I argued. "It's possible that if I spend some more time on it, I can get my couch and rest easy."

He took a breath. "What if I said you could spend another night with us?"

"That completely defeats the purpose of me having my own flat!" I shouted. "What's the point of Mrs. Hudson letting me stay there if I fix it up, if I fix it up but crash with you? Free labour, free lodging and all that?"

"I don't understand why you are so averse to accepting my help," he said. "I'm offering you a more relaxed and pleasant place to sleep while you refurbish your flat. Would it not be prudent to thank me for such generosity and then travel with me to the museum?"

"Sherlock Holmes, you only offer your help whenever it suits you best," I retorted. "So you'll pardon my reluctance. Also, did you even once consider that perhaps certain aspects of my flat are entirely more pleasant then aspects of yours?"

"If you're referring to John, I assure you-"

"I am referring to you, you big git." I interrupted, staring at him pointedly after this.

There was silence while he processed that.

"I see." He tightened his scarf. "And I suppose nothing I have to say could convince you."

"Speaking in impossibilities is a dangerous thing, Mr. Holmes. I figured you above such habits." I took off my cleaning gloves. "Here's the thing. If you promise to help me move this couch and let me stay another night at your place, I'll come with. But only if you truly promise." I held out my hand expectantly.

He paused for a moment, then took it. "You have my word." We shook on it.

"I hope I do." Part of me wanted to go simply because the prospect of more cleaning made me want to wrap myself in a blanket of laziness and munch on some chocolate, but the other part was something far more serious. "Now let's go pick up John. Do you think he had a nice day flirting with the ladies at work?" I flashed him a smile.

He pursed his lips. "I would say that's an accurate deduction based upon John's reaction the other day." He was holding back a smile, it was so painfully obvious. He didn't want to admit that somebody who he held in such disdain could actually amuse him from time to time. "Shall we go?"

"Lead the way," I said. "But do try to at least act as if you enjoy my company when we meet Soo Lin Yao. If there is an air of discord between any members of our group, she might pick up on this and hold back information." He didn't respond, instead turning his back to me and leaving. I quickly grabbed my coat and followed, struggling to keep up with his brisk pace. "Yeah, when I said act as if you enjoy my company, I meant, you know, the opposite of what you're doing now." He still didn't answer, hailing a cab for us. "Betcha your credit card that Soo Lin Yao has a tattoo," I said as we settled inside.

His eyes narrowed. Good, he was still listening. "And what prompted you to make this bet?"

"No particular reason. Just didn't like seeing you go all fishy face, sulky mouth on me. Pouting is not an attractive quality." I glanced out the window. "So what do you say, big boy? Gonna risk it? Take me on and prove you're the smartest guy in the room. Well," I said, noting our surroundings. "Smartest guy in the cab." My eyebrows wiggled ridiculously.

"Say I take on your bet, and this time I win," he said, turning to face me. "Would I get more then three questions? A night at our place is nothing compared to the damage you could cause with my money in your hands." He was really milking it for all its worth. "Seven questions is far more reasonable then a paltry three, and even then I may not be tempted. Ten questions however seems appropriate, don't you agree?" He smiled smugly, like I was going to immediately accept. Rotten bastard.

"Five questions," I told him.

"Ten."

"Five."

"Nine."

"Five."

"Eight."

"Five."

He looked at me with irritation. "Haven't you ever heard of compromise?"

"Haven't you ever heard of principle?" I shot back. Until he budged more, I wasn't moving. This was more then a battle of the bet, it was a battle of character. He was judging me based on my ability to stand firm on an issue, and I was judging him based on his willingness to adjust his stance on an issue. It was a cat she mouse game, except a whole lot more like a cat and cat game as we both had our claws out and unsheathed. We both stared at each other, gauging the others reaction.

He broke the silence. "Seven."

Reaching out his hand for the shake, I took it. "Six."

He tightened his hold and didn't let go. "I said seven."

"And I said six. Now take it or the deal is off." Once more, analysing the most imperceptible of changes in each other's manner as he gripped my hand ever tighter. "Now unless you want nothing,I suggest you make up your mind."

"Counter proposal," he said, not letting go of my hand. "Five questions, and if you are wrong, you have to do something for me. Within reason of course. That's a fair trade, wouldn't you think?" He was up to something. I didn't like the sound of owing Sherlock Holmes anything under any circumstance.

"And who's to judge whether or not it's within reason?" I started. "Not you, surely. I wouldn't trust you half as much as you distrust your brother." Maybe this would rile him up a bit more. Technically, I wasn't supposed to know he had a brother. At least not yet.

His fingers started to dig into my skin. "John should be suitable for the job. His morals are far less ambiguous then ours, wouldn't you agree?"

"I'll ignore the insult to the state of my morals momentarily," I said, gripping his hand just as firmly back. "Five questions, and a favour. We have a deal." Two deals with Sherlock Holmes in one day. Stranger things have in fact not happened.

"Good," he said, releasing my hand. We both drew back into our respective corners of the cab, sure the other was going to lose. I nursed my fingers back to health as they tingled from the lack of blood flow. Glancing over at Sherlock and noticed he was doing the same thing just as he noticed the same of me. I looked at him, and he at me, and simultaneously giggled.

"Better text him that we're here Sherlock, or else his morals will be corrupted by those charming ladies." The two of us had descended into a state of what, by my standards, I would consider catatonia. I'm sure to the outside it merely looked as if we were enjoying a quiet laugh.

After Sherlock texted John he was out in just a few minutes. I scooted over to let him in.

"So have you two gotten over your little tantrum?" he asked, closing the door behind him. "It looked like you were about to really get into it this morning." The taxi rolled off, and part of me tensed as I mentally prepared myself for what was to come. I hoped Sherlock wouldn't notice, but I didn't waste my breath holding out on that.

"Tantrum? Did you witness a tantrum this morning Sherlock?" I looked at him in fake puzzlement.

"No. Haven't the faintest idea what you mean. Did you witness a tantrum?" He replied innocently.

I shook my head dramatically. "Not at all. Are you sure you're alright John? If you're suffering from delusions that Sherlock and I have some sort of on going childish feud, I'm sure there are places you can go to for treatment of such a condition. Hell, there may even be an app for that sort of thing." I batted my eyes at him serenely.

John began to laugh. "Oh no, not this again. It's unfair and will not do. I can never tell when you two are either at each others throats in some sort of quasi hate/sexual tension, or acting the part of banal friends who can read each others minds." He wagged a finger disapprovingly at the two of us. "So I'm ordering you now to pick one, and kindly stick with it."

A smirk began to creep onto my face, and I did my best to hold it back. "Stick with what John? I don't see anything wrong with the state of my relationship with Sherlock. I'm merely guessing, but it makes sense that each of us possesses a certain degree of curiosity and interest in the other. Can we help it if such an emotion gets away from us, or as you suggested, unites us under a similar banner?" He tried to speak after this, but I interrupted him. "Are you asking us to be less then what we are? How incredibly selfish of you John."

He just looked at me for a moment, mouth slightly open, any protests long forgotten.

I just smiled at him sweetly. "Oh, and just so you know, Sherlock has promised to give me his credit card if I'm right that Soo Lin Yao has a tattoo. If I'm wrong, then he gets five questions and a favour. You'll be deciding on whether or not the favour is within reason. We both concurred that your morals are far less murky then our own. Also, it's significantly less likely that you have an agenda. Cool?"

He looked away from me and focused on the back of the seat in front of him. "God help me, can I win just one argument around these two?"

"Of course you can win John. You simply lack the conversational skills to do so," Sherlock interjected.

"Me, lacking in conversational skills? The pot sure is calling the kettle black now. Tell me, how many friends do you have, because last time I counted the number was quite small." The two were staring daggers at one another, with me right in between.

"Helen," he said. I turned to face Sherlock and raised up my eyes. "Would you say we were friends?"

My stomach fluttered, realising the intention of his words. "How about I answer your question with a series of questions. Do we spend time together?" I asked.

"Yes, quite a bit lately in fact," was his reply.

"Do we banter back and forth using our own brand of what others consider unusual speech patterns?" It was so obvious where I was taking this exchange.

"Yes, in fact we do this even more often."

"And when we argue, have we been able to move past it?"

"Yes, I would say so."

"There you go John," I said, turning to him. "Look, he just made a friend. And how exactly is your romantic life getting on? I suppose you're just waiting for the right time to ask her."

"You know what, I'm just going to shut up. When you're done having a laugh, wake me up." He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the car door.

"John," I said quietly.

"Not yet," he said. "I'm not ready to talk to you right now. You'll just poke fun at me some more."

"No, that's not it. We're here." I nudged him lightly.

He sighed. "You have got to be kidding me."

* * *

Hehe, I love John. Also, I just made the connection that Mary Poppins is a Time Lord. I know people have seen that before, but I just had the personal epiphany the other day. I might have to make a fanfic outta that...

Anyway, this is very important so read carefully. I will not be updating as frequently as I have been. It's not that I can't, but there is something important on the horizon. March marks the month when filming for the third season of Sherlock begins. First of all, yay! Second of all, it means that the third season release will most likely air fall of this year. So I have to make all my chapters and ideas last till then. See the problem? I can update every day if I want, but I choose not to. Unless you guys leave really awesome reviews that is... YES I'M A REVIEW WHORE.

If you liked this and want to see more, drop me a review. If you do drop me a review and/or save this story to your alerts and/or favorites, that will make me even happier and more likely to write the next chapter. If you feel like I'm taking to long to update this story, then feel free to friend me on facebook and bug me about it there. The link is in my profile.


	12. Chapter 12

Charter 12

I don't want to talk about it. Please don't make me. Just, no. I wanna go home. Home, where things are safe and unpredictable, not unsafe and predictable. This isn't fun anymore, this isn't some dream fantasyland where I melt the heart of the mysterious Sherlock Holmes while solving the crime and saving the day. I can't change things here. I hold no power. I am no miraculous catch-all for the sadness this place had to offer. This sucks, and I hate it all so much. It doesn't matter how witty I am or how much I lie through my teeth. I do not belong here. I can't wait for this dream to end, because it's been a nightmare for far too long now. Shit, I'm talking about it. Well, might as well keep going. What I wouldn't give to be back at home watching Netflix in my robe with a tub of ice cream.

This is the story of how I failed to save Soo Lin Yao.

The car had pulled us around the front of the museum, so we had to run to the back in order to execute whatever Sherlock's plan was. Well, strictly speaking, I knew what his plan was, and that was to be as impressive and intimidating as possible when he met Soo Lin Yao. Normally I would try to stop him being all smug and pretentious, but my mind was distinctly focused elsewhere for the time being.

"John, Helen, you stay here while I go in. Too many people at once could startle her." Sherlock opened the door as little as possible and glanced inside. "The lights are off, but I suspect that a switch will be located under her desk." He began to ease himself in the door when I grabbed his arm. "What now?" He was irritated, and I was irritated at his irritation.

"When she drops it, made sure and catch the pot for her." I flashed him a smirk and let go of his sleeve. He sneered at me while I gave him a cheery wave, and disappeared inside. There was a slight pause while I looked at John and then peered through the small gap, Sherlock already out of sight. I began to follow him when my arm was grabbed.

My eyes turned back to John. "Shouldn't we wait for him?" He asked.

"Wait for him to what, come back? Send up a flare that he's ready for us? Yeah, if you wanna sit and wait for him to do something like that, go right on ahead. See you when we're done talking. Make sure to guard this door so no assassins come in after, okay?" I tugged my arm out of his.

He sighed and filed in after me. We crept slowly and as silently as possible towards the work stations.

"Fancy a biscuit with it?" She let out a little yelp and dropped the tea-pot, just as I had said she would. And he caught it, just like he was supposed to. Kinda pissed me off that he did to tell you the truth. Part of me had hoped that by telling him to catch it might actually have had the opposite effect, simply because I was an anomaly affecting this universe. "Centuries old. Don't break that." Why did his voice had to be so delightfully sexy while he was simultaneously being so incredibly annoying? He turned on the lights. "Hello."

I hopped out of my hiding place. "Yes, why hello. Don't worry, we're not here to kill you. I promise on his life," I said, gesturing my thumb back at John who came out looking sheepish and guilty. "I would promise on his, but then I might be tempted to break that promise simply so I could get in a good punch or two on that exquisite jaw line of his." Alright, maybe I lied. I was still trying to knock his ego down a notch.

"Sorry Sherlock, nothing I might have said would've stopped her anyway." John gave a wave to Soo Lin Yao. "Hello."

She waved back, looking puzzled at the scenario. She gestured to some seats and we all sat down to hear her story. I listened the entire time, but made no comment. Even when she showed us the tattoo and I saw Sherlock and John both give me sideways glances, I let no emotion slip past my exterior. There was a far greater concern I was focusing on, and it wasn't until now that I was truly deliberating on my choices covering the matter. But I was confident. I knew what was going to happen, and I could change it. After all, this was only a dream. With enough practice, one can control dreams. This was no sweat. I had it in the bag.

The lights suddenly went out when I realised I had drifted off into my own world. My heart began to race.

"He's here. Zhi Zhu. He's found me." Her eyes closed tightly as if trying to prepare herself for what she thought was an inevitability.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, wait!" John called after the consulting detective as he raced off to find the assassin. John stood up and pulled both of us with him. "Come here. Get in. Get in." He repeated. We crouched down by a desk while we heard gunfire. John was tense, and obviously not going to stay. "I have to go and help him. Bolt the door after me." And he was gone, leaving only her and I.

It was my turn to act. I bolted the door just like he said and began to look around the office for something blunt and projectile worthy to throw at her brother. She didn't speak, but I expected that. She was afraid for her life, so it was only natural. My eyes glinted with satisfaction as they alighted upon a bust of Handel. I looked back and saw her deciphering some of code, and quickly looked away. Plausible deniability and all that. "It'll be okay," I said quietly. "You'll make it out of this alive."

There was a moment of silence, and then she spoke. "It is alright. I know death is coming for me. That is the way it was meant to be."

"Don't say that," I said, turning back to her.

"It can't be helped," she said with a smile. "My life ended the second I hid."

I walked briskly over to her and put the bust down, placing my hands on either of her shoulders. "There is no such thing as a set destiny. We can always change, and only we can determine our own fate. It's as simple as that."

Her eyes were old as I looked in them, and I saw something else there too. Was it despair? Sadness? Regret? No, it was the shadow of her brother who was about to hit me on the back of head. I landed with a thud on the floor, and looked deliriously up at the two. My strength was long gone, but my brain still saw and processed what was occurring. Part of me wished that I had blacked out then, instead of having to witness and experience a total sense of pure helplessness. But I was not afforded such consideration. The universe had a funny way of telling me it didn't like me.

She caressed his face, and he took her hand, placing inside it the origami black lotus. I couldn't see her face, but I knew. I knew she was smiling. I knew she was accepting. I knew. But I did not condone, I did not approve, and I certainly did not understand. He held up his gun. She just stood there. And then came the shot. And the fall. And the end. The end of Soo Lin Yao. The end of a life.

Childishly, I willed her back into existence. I tried to live the life she would never have in my head. Down the road she was gonna accept that guy and go out with him. They would have a great time, and fall madly in love. They'd get engaged and she'd tell him her past, which he would reassure her didn't matter. Then the marriage. Becoming parents, making mistakes, coming to love one another even more. Being old together. Having grandkids. It was happy, perfect, a well lived life, and what she deserved. That was the life she was supposed to have lived. Not dead by her brother's hands for a crime she didn't commit. Not dead on a floor, bleeding out while he turned and ran with neither remorse nor regard.

Tears came. Of course they did. I'd known the woman for all of ten minutes and then I was sobbing next to her body. Makes sense.

"Helen?" It was John. But I wasn't ready to face him then. I wasn't ready to face anyone. I didn't want to talk. "Helen can you hear me?" I only cried harder, mucus mixing in with my tears as my face became ruddy with the effort. "Are you hurt in any way?" He needed to stop talking. "Helen, are you hurt?" A hand touched my shoulder. Last straw.

My hand reached out and punched him right on the jaw bone. "You idiot!" I blubbered out. My entire head was incoherent with feelings of anger, guilt, and melancholy. If you had asked me which way was up, I probably would have answered by saying "cinnamon, but only on dragon-slaying Sunday." My face was ugly now, all red with snot and tears as I wailed like a pathetic child. I pulled my feet in closer to my body, eyes blurry and unable to distinguish anything. I had failed. She was dead and there wasn't anything I could have done to change that. It didn't feel like I was dreaming anymore, but what else could I have called this? A nightmare? But if that was true, then why hadn't I woken up now that the worst had come? My only answer to that was that the worst hadn't come yet. I cried harder still. I was such an idiot to think that I could control anything that went on here. The idea was ridiculous, absurd, a joke.

"Helen, are you hurt in any way?" I buried my face into my knees. It was Sherlock this time. If I didn't want to talk to John, then I really didn't want to talk to Sherlock. My face pressed harder into my knees, trying to avoid him. "Helen, if you don't tell me your current physical state right now then I will be forced to assume the worst and that you are weeping from pain and unable to respond, and therefore require medical care."

I lifted my head towards his voice and wiped away the tears, but to no avail. "I'm f-fine," I stuttered. "Only g-got hit on the b-back of my h-head." I was an utter mess, and I knew it. No doubt Sherlock had taken note of this fact and was silently judging me for my lack of control. "C-couldn't save..." My sobs overtook any words that can't after. Next thing I knew I had been lifted into Sherlock's arms. I tried to hit him, but my energy had become rapidly spent with all of my crying. My feeble attempts did nothing, so I just let him carry me. My fingers dug into his coat as I clutched onto him like a vice. The jacket was a rough wool, warm but scratchy. Tears found their way into it, leaving wet spots all over his front. The mucus found a home here as well, and he probably would end up having to wash the jacket with how disgusting I was making it. There I go again, screwing everything up.

John and Sherlock were talking about something, but I couldn't quite make it out. All I could hear was the heartbeat of the man holding me, pulsing fast. Selfishly, I let myself drift off to the sound of that thrum, ignoring my shame and guilt. I pushed it away, if only for the moment, and dreamed of the detective. It was strange, because I had always thought him to be a perfect God and unattainable. When I first got here and realised he was now an imperfect ass but attainable, I thought I preferred seeing him in that first light. But now, I couldn't imagine him any other way.

So when I dreamed of the detective, I dreamed we were arguing. And I was okay with that.

* * *

*crawls out from behind rock* Oh, hey there! Wait, what? More you say? More updates? Hmm, I'm gonna go with a no on that one. Why? Because I'm as mean as Stephen Moffat, that's why!

Trololololoool!

Anyway, I have a tumblr now, woo! Go check it out and send me an ask or two, would you? My tumblr is pretty amazing, so yeah. Follow me and you have TWO places to bug me about updating. As always, links are in the profile. So drop me a review (or not), and I'll see you next update. Bye!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Neither Shakespeare nor Tennyson could illustrate and depict the perfect ruckus you have caused since your most ill-timed arrival."

"Sherlock Holmes, I do believe that is the nicest compliment you have ever given me. To say that I could puzzle the great literary giants themselves, whose very name inspires awe and the deepest respect, well, I've never heard of the like in my entire life."

"You mistake me madam. What joy is to be gained from horrifying their constitutions? I find such a statement perverse and highly insupportable. I must reiterate that your distinct brand of sarcasm and vitriol has caused the deepest frustration and unwanted ruckus I have ever had the displeasure of witnessing and enduring in my life."

"A ruckus? Me? I cannot comprehend such a statement. Could you perhaps exactly describe what qualifies as a 'ruckus' in your eyes? I find your declaration beguiling as to the nature of my so-called riotous descent into your dwelling. Indeed, I'm hard pressed to find an occasion when I have undergone such befuddlement before."

"You are the single most irritating and insufferable person I have ever met."

"Are we resorting to petty exchanges of the barest insults now? Fine, then you are the hugest disappointment it has been my misfortune to know."

"Grating, puerile woman."

"Bombastic, cruel man."

"Guttersnipe."

"Virgin."

Cue fits of laughter from both sides.

My head was splitting. And reeling. And pounding. Shit, what did I do? Oh. Yeah. I remember now.

Universe, may I entreat you to carry me back into my restful state of slumber?

No? Well, okay then. I guess I should have expected that.

I opened my eyes. Somehow I had made it back into Sherlock's room and was carefully wrapped in his duvet. Great, didn't take too long for me to figure out what happened there. Geez, I can't believe he deigned to carry me all the way back to his flat with my gross mucus and tears ruining his perfectly clean coat. Must've taken all his willpower not to drop me on the way back. Or maybe he made John carry me.

I sat up, wincing as my head pounded even harder. What time was it? It was still dark outside, that much I could tell from his window. I squinted around the room and spied a clock on the bedside table, flashing the numbers '3:48' at me in big red font. Next to it was a glass of water, and mercifully a bottle of ibuprofen. With shaking hands I uncorked it and poured two in my hand, then swallowed them instantly. I drained the glass quickly and sighed. There was no way I was leaving this room. I didn't want to face either of them. I snuggled back down into the blankets, pulling my head underneath.

A little while later I heard someone open the door, and my eyes opened from underneath the covering. "Helen?" It was John. I tried not to move, so maybe he'd think I was still asleep. "You awake?" Try not to move, try not to move... Footsteps back tracked and shut the door behind them. I closed my eyes in relief.

Seconds later I heard the door open once again. "Helen, get up." Of course it was Sherlock. He couldn't wait just a few more hours to be an ass. Nope, he had to do it now. "Helen, the water is gone, the bottle open, and you have changed sleeping position. That, and the fact that your breathing pattern has differentiated from previously, must mean that you are therefore awake. Now, get up." When I still didn't move, he ripped the sheets off the bed, and I cringed from the shock.

"You know, if you gave me some sort of motivation to get up, like say a pastry or a more pleasing manner, then perhaps I would be more inclined to comply with your order. Until that time however, I would prefer to remain as I am. As it is, even if you adopted such an attitude adjustment, orders on your part would most likely be ignored simply because they are indeed orders and not requests. Now go back to your books, you'll make no headway with me." I grabbed one of his pillows and hugged it tight to my chest.

"You do realise precisely how petulant you come across by acting this way, don't you?"

"Yes, I am acting petulant. But I'm also in a state of emotional distress and moderate physical harm. So if you'll kindly let me be, it would be most appreciated." I flipped over so my back was facing him. He sat down next to me on the bed. My heart began to beat wildly. Part of me was excited, but the other part was angry I was excited. My fangirl side was peeking out. I was on the same bed as Sherlock Holmes, albeit the implications were utterly platonic.

"Helen, I understand that for women, there are times of the month that emotions are intensified, but-"

"JOHN!" I yelled suddenly. "GET YOUR ASS IN HERE THIS BLOODY INSTANT OR I SWEAR I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!" I turned around and kicked Sherlock off of the bed.

John was there in seconds. "What, what is it?"

"Tell him Sherlock," I said, my voice wild with rage. "Tell him what you just said to me." He deadpanned. "Tell him now," I growled.

"I merely explained to Helen that heightened emotions are natural during certain times of the month, and-"

"Merely?" I said. "You merely told me? You know what Sherlock, you know what you are? You're a dick. The world's biggest dick who's insensitivity and complete lack of tact knows no bounds. It amazes me that you are conceited enough to assume that my angst stems from my menstrual cycle and not from the fact that I was recently witness to a murder. I never thought that you would be privy to the male fallacy of disrespecting a woman's right to be furious for reasons other then a period! Or do you think me incapable of true anger? Because believe you me Sherlock, right now, I'M VERY ANGRY!"

The two of them blanched, looking at each other. I raised my eyebrows, looking at Sherlock expectantly. He said nothing.

"Alright, well if either of you need me I'm going to finish furnishing my apartment." I walked out, not looking back once as I did. Rude awakenings never thrilled me. Do they ever thrill anyone?

Damn him! Damn that pompous, pansy ass, scarf wearing, perfectly curled head of his. Screw him and his damned pride! Next time he acted like that, I would open up a can of condemnation-whoop-ass on that slender figure of his. Godamn shit I was angry. I was furious. I was fuming. I wouldn't mind getting along with Sherlock if he would just bloody give me a chance to, but most times he was too busy being an ass. My arms flailed in frustration.

"Sherlock, you do realise she's right don't you?" John crossed his arms and looked at his flatmate. His friend refrained from responding, and replaced the sheets on his bed instead. "Look, you acted like a dick. It was idiotic of you to play on her emotions like that. You can't treat her like an experiment. Now own up to it and apologize."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And why should I do that? I made a wrong assumption, anyone could have committed the same mistake. She should realise that and move on."

John sighed. "You're going to apologise because that's what we men do." John gestured to himself. "If men act like prats, something you are constantly guilty of, then they have to take responsibility for these sorts of things."

"Dull," Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"What? Oh never mind," his friend said, giving up on the consulting detective. "Fine, if you want to alienate one of your very few friends then be my guest. Just don't expect me to stick around to watch you screw up." He left, leaving Sherlock to his own devices.

Meanwhile I was tearing into Mrs. Hudson's store room, absolutely determined to get that couch if my life depended on it. Which it didn't, but I was certain that my sanity in fact did. Besides, this was a much more constructive use of my time then competing with Sherlock. He was right, I was acting like a child, but I had a good reason so there was nothing he could do about it, so neener, neener, neener, and I'll be damned of he says otherwise!

"Helen," a voice called from the doorway.

"I don't have time for your shit Sherlock, so go shove it back up your ass." My fingers ached from the work, and I cracked them slowly. The process of reclaiming the couch had proved incredibly therapeutic. My efforts were rewarded. The sofa was now free from the thicket of clutter and junk. I began to drag one end of it out of the room. "Move," I said, backing into him. He obliged, and I pulled it out, relishing in my achievement, small though it may have been. I closed the door to the storeroom, having no further need of it. When I looked back, Sherlock had a hold on one end, waiting for me. "I don't need your help," I said spitefully.

"I wasn't offering you a choice in the matter." He smiled maddeningly. "Shall we begin?"

Slowly I walked over and took the other end, lifting up and walking with him in tandem to my flat. "What's this about Sherlock? Your scheming something, I know it." My eyes narrowed at him. "Tell me, or I swear on all the experiments in your flat that if you don't tell me, they will see a very swift and merciless demise from a quick and cutting clever."

"I assure you, my ulterior motives are non-existent." He was putting on the front of good-natured neighbour, but I didn't buy it, not for a second. "Really, I have no agenda whatsoever." Evidently he sensed my distrust. Not that I was trying to hide it anyway.

"You're the most loathsome liar this world has ever created," I hissed.

"So you believe the world made me this way?" He replied. "Did it not ever cross your mind that perhaps I chose to distort the truth, instead of it being a product of my environment and utilised due to necessity?"

"No, I don't think that at all," I answered. "Being a liar is to always be alone. Nobody chooses that if they don't have to." We arrived at my door. I gently released my end and opened it, then returned to the sofa. "I want this on that wall over there," I said, flicking my head in the direction. We manoeuvred it inside, placing it right where I had indicated. "There," I said, dusting off my hands. "That was easy." I sat down, letting myself relax. I felt the pillows sink next to me as he joined in. "Thanks for helping," I said with a yawn. "I really appreciate it."

"It was nothing," he said quietly. We sat in silence for a minute, neither of us sure what to say.

"You're never going to apologise are you?" I said nonchalantly.

"Decidedly not," he informed me.

I sighed. "Of course not." My eyes closed. "What else could I expect, coming from the Sherlock Holmes himself?" I chuckled.

"I was wrong though," he said.

I did the fastest double take you had ever seen. "What did you say?"

"Hmm?" He said, looking at me innocently.

"You said something I didn't quite catch, could you possibly repeat it?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're referring to."

I could have gotten angry with him again for being a dick, but I knew what he said. He may not apologise, he may not be sorry, but at least he admitted when he was wrong, he just didn't like to dwell on it. And let's be honest, who does like to think about being wrong?

So this time, just this once, I laughed. "You're a right git you know that?" I said, a smile fixing itself unwillingly on my face. My body drooped and I leaned over, my head landing in his lap. "Sorry, but I'm tired and your lap is right here."

"Not at all," he responded. "But perhaps you would not be as willing to rest your head on my legs if you remembered a small detail." I sat up and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "It's nothing really, inconsequential of course, but I did not forget about it's existence." He had been looking forward, and turned his face slowly to me. "I assume by your silence that it has escaped your remembrance. We had a bet."

It dawned on me what he was talking about. "That's right! Well then, where is my credit card?" I held out my fingers. "Well go on, give it up. I won fair and square, let me see that glorious piece of plastic." He kept looking at me, not changing expression all the while. "What? Oh that's right, John still has it. Alright, let's go fetch it." I began to get up but he held me back. "What now?"

"Soo Lin Yao possessed a small tattoo on the underside of her foot," he said. I was about to speak again, but he stopped me. "You bet me my credit card that she had a tattoo, and if you were wrong I was to receive five questions and a favour."

"Yeah, I was right. Now let's go get my prize."

"Except she had two tattoos. Therefore, the win is mine to claim, as you bet against me that she only had a tattoo, not multiple." We both stared at each other for a minute, him patiently waiting for my reaction.

"Don't you lie to me. If she did have two I want proof."

"Right here," he said, pulling out his phone. He showed me a picture of a wing tattooed behind an ear. "That is Soo Lin Yao after her autopsy. We went down to St. Barts after I brought you back here. A girl there let me examine the bodies, and on Soo Lin we found this." My eyes scanned the photograph, looking for some indication of farce. I could find none.

This was bad. This was extremely very not good.

* * *

HAPPY 100 REVIEWS!

Thanks for all the support guys, I really appreciate it. I had this chapter written when I realised how close I was to 100, so I said I'd update when it got there. And it did. Thank you **zelda fan**, whoever you are! And you'll get your wish, to see Sherlock winning the bet. Funny how things like that with out. Must be reviewer karma.

Anyway, I love you all and hope you liked this. Friend me on Facebook or follow me on tumblr, or both, and you can have ample access to pester me for updates. Links are in the profile.

Also, **Frostivy** suggested a pairing name in her review. I liked Shelen, but there was Herlock and Helock too. What do you guys think?


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"Ummm..." For once since my arrival, I was utterly speechless. No words came to my mind. I couldn't get myself out of this. No escape. He had me right where he wanted me. This time he had won. I had lost. Fuck, I lost. He had five questions and a favour. _Shit shit shit_.

"I hope this doesn't inconvenience you at all, but I'm going to ask for my favour now," he said, standing up. "Come with me." When I didn't move, still in shock, he rolled his eyes. "Move," he told me, grabbing my hand and pulling me with him. I let him take me meekly, too paralysed to move on my own. We made it back to their flat and went inside, finding John asleep in a chair. "Wake up," Sherlock said, nudging his friend. He opened his eyes sleepily and groaned. He took one look at us, and then was completely awake.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" He stood up and gazed at both of us incredulously.

"As you know, Helen lost the bet. I've come to ask whether or not you think my favour to be reasonable, as those are the terms we agreed upon." Sherlock said this as casually as possible, but apparently he didn't get the mood across.

"Sherlock," John began warily. "Think about what you're saying. That is not a reasonable favour to ask of her, especially since you know so little about who she is."

"John, how can you possibly know what I want from her?" He asked.

"Sherlock, it's very obvious what it is you are after and it's a no." John looked at me in my confused state. "Just look at her. You must've shocked her senseless."

I was pulled out of my reverie. "Hey, I am a person who can hear you just perfectly-" I stopped myself. It took a moment to process the implications of the scene in front of John. My right hand flexed, and I realised Sherlock was still holding it. I looked down and let go, feeling how close Sherlock and I were standing. "John, stop right there. Nope, no way in hell." I shook my hand to let the tingling sensation that had permeated through my skin wear off.

"So he didn't..." John said, looking at me seriously.

"No," I repeated firmly. Then I began to laugh hysterically. There truly was no way to be sane around them. It was far easier just to give into the madness and go with the flow, so to speak. "The very idea John." I almost doubled over. "Oh God, that is rich. I've already told you, never in a million years would I do that. Certainly not with the likes of him. And your face!" I said, pointing to him. "I don't think I've ever seen you made that expression before. Hey, Sherlock," I elbowed him in the side, "I wonder if that's what Mycroft's face looks like when he's been told they've made the cake with no sugar!" I clutched at my side. "Again, that is the best joke I've ever heard. Even better then the one about the backfiring car and the boomerang."

"I don't miss things as a rule, but I feel distinctly excluded. Perhaps if either of you were to clue me in I also could revel in Helen's, well, whatever you call that." His inflection was directed at me.

"Dear God Sherlock, for being uncommonly intelligent you are also _blitheringly_ stupid." I wiped away true tears of mirth from my eyes. "Let me give you some clues. You were holding my hand. You said you wanted to claim your favour from me. My face was utterly stuck in a state of shock. What conclusions is John supposed to draw? That you wanted me to scrub Mrs. Hudson's feet?" It was hard to laugh and talk at the same time.

When he said nothing, John sighed. "Sherlock, it looked like you had just asked her for her hand in marriage."

There was a pause following this.

"That is not what I had intended," Sherlock explained.

"No shit," I said. "But that doesn't matter, because even if it was I would have said no anyway. Like I'd ever marry you." I giggled again. "Sorry, it just sounds weird to even say out loud. Imagine it, Helen Holmes. As if."

"And why not?" He said, offended. "What's wrong with me?"

I took one look at John, and he looked at me, and we both laughed in unison.

"Not right now Sherlock, that's a conversation for another time," John said, patting his friend on the back. "But now that that's cleared up, what was it you wanted to ask?"

Sherlock looked at the both of us, debating his next course of action. "Right. The favour. As I already informed you, I did in fact win the bet against Helen, and as per our agreement she now owes me five questions and a favour. We both agreed that you would be best equipped morally as a third party to determine whether or not said favour is appropriate. So I, have come here with her, to call upon your principle. I believe what I ask to be perfectly reasonable to the best of my knowledge, and I foresee no hindrance it could cause, as I have mapped out all possible hiccups in it's implementation. Indeed, I have been very careful to word my favour so as to give as little cause for doubt and suspicion at it's intentions as humanly possible."

"You can tell he's been thinking about this quite seriously," I interrupted, directing my words at John. "This entire time it's almost sounded as if he's trying to avoid telling us what the bloody hell he wants me to do." John sniggered, then caught Sherlock's disapproving eye and cleared his throat to cover it up. "So, care to skip your monologue and get to the juicy bit? I'd rather get this over and done with if you know what I mean."

He looked at both of us, unamused. "My favour," he said, "is that you be forced to accompany John and I on all of our cases regardless of any previous engagements you might have, even if you are otherwise inclined to join."

I stared at him for a moment. "Wait, what?"

"Sounds fair to me," John said.

"Wait, what?" Now I stared at John.

"Thought so. Alright, then it's settled." Sherlock handed me a stack of books. "Get cracking, we've got to find out which books they have in common."

"John, you can't be serious." I walked over to him sternly.

"I don't see anything wrong with it."John shrugged his shoulders. "It's not like you dislike coming along anyway, I know you don't." He yawned. "Besides, if you're here then I'm gonna go get some shut eye. You can cover for me, right?" He smiled innocently, and walked away.

"You scheming bastards," I muttered under my breath, slamming the books down on the table. Opening them up I groaned inwardly, knowing that all this work was fruitless. It wouldn't matter in the end. Unless I decided to spoil the surprise, but I dismissed that possibility. If I tried to change the future, someone might end up dead, and it could be me. This way, at least I was sure of what would happen. "So, do you want to use your five questions now?" Maybe if I could get all of this done in one night/morning it would be easier then the protracted and painful process spread over a course of days.

"Do you swear that your answers will be wholly truthful, not in the slightest sense vague, and utterly serious?" Sherlock's voice was frightfully intense.

"I swear on the fact that I know John killed that cabbie to save you," I replied simply. Hopefully he would take my response as a testament to my attitude towards the subject. And hopefully he wouldn't ask how I knew that John did kill that cabbie. Shit, maybe I should've come up with something different to say. Too late now.

He paused, presumably to think over how I did know that.

I calmly looked through the books.

"Do you know who Moriarty is?"

Shit. My hands shook. Couldn't he ask something else?

"I'm gonna take a rain check on that." I nervously flipped through pages absentmindedly. I could practically feel his eyes on me as I internally freaked out. _Oh my god,_ he's gonna think I'm one of the bad guys and throw me out the window repeatedly until I die and oh god _he's right behind me_, I can feel his breath on the back of my neck and this is totally not cool, oh my god I'm gonna faint. My head turned around imperceptibly and sure enough, he was right there. "Or I could not do that, you know, because I'm nice and stuff." And _stuff_? Did I really just say that?

"Correct answer," I heard him growl out behind me. Pure chills of terror coursed through my body. He spun the chair around until I faced him dead on, his nose inches from mine. "Now, what do you know of Moriarty?"

"Uh," I began, trying to suppress my body from shaking. I failed, just so you know. "Moriarty, well, he likes to dress nicely. Um, his ringtone is 'Stayin Alive'." Sherlock's eyes were not impressed. By this time he was nearly on top of me as I sank lower into the chair. "He's smart and resourceful. He's almost kinda like you, except instead of working for the police, he's a consulting criminal." My eyes flicked to either side, looking for an escape. "And uh, that's pretty much it."

He looked at me so closely I felt like all my secrets were being split open and hewn into his abductions. It was a rather disconcerting few moments.

"And how did you come to possess this knowledge?" Sherlock asked me.

"Hey now, that's a different question," I said quickly. "Do you really want that to be your second question, because I can tell you right now that you're going to meet eventually and you can ask him yourself." I was sweating so bad by this point I could've sworn someone turned the furnace on.

He looked me over, considering this. "I won't waste my second question, as you suggested. But, I will ask if you are leaving anything out that may be important in the near future that involves Moriarty. Because if you are, so help me I'll turn you out faster then my experiments mold, Mrs. Hudson be damned." At this point, our noses did touch, and I was shocked at how warm his face was compared to my icy exterior.

"Uh, well, this doesn't technically matter, but Moriarty is the one who managed to wrangle Zhi Zhu and his associates into England." I pressed myself further into the chair as he bore down upon me.

Suddenly he drew back, and I sighed in relief. "Very well, that will be all for now. Continue with your work." He returned to his side of the room and rooted around some more boxes.

"You know Sherlock, you can ask me more questions if you like," I offered up. "You'll only use up one of your five if I don't want to answer it. Just keep that in mind." My hands grabbed more books as I looked them all over.

"So if I was to ask you how you know my brother..."

"I don't, and he'll probably be the first to tell you that. Same with Moriarty."

Silence. "So you don't work for either of them?"

"Nah, I just know things." God there were so many books! And this journalist guy had those terribly cliche racy novels too. "I've never met Mycroft. Same with Moriarty." I shuddered. "And I hope I never meet him. Moriarty, not your brother. I'm sure you're brother is cool once you get past his umbrella fetish."

"What about your assertion that John killed a cabbie?" Shit, I'd hoped he had forgotten.

"Nope, that is a no-go. Unless you want to use up one of your questions..."

"No, I wouldn't waste one on that. I have a better question. Will you tell me why, after claiming your significant other recently perished in a automobile accident, you haven't shown one single sign of remorse at his death, or a desire to return back to your own home and life and instead seem entirely comfortable and at ease intruding in ours?"

Sherlock didn't forget _anything_ did he?

* * *

What's up people? So here's your chapter, and another cliff-hangery type thing. Yeah, I didn't forget about her dead boyfriend. Neither did Sherlock. And believe it or not, there's an explanation, and a real one. I've had it planned this way since the start. Actually it's pretty funny, I know almost exactly how this story is gonna go, from the Great Game to Reichenbach.

Muahahahahaha!


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

I rubbed my brow in irritation. The one thing I had been steadfastly trying to ignore, and he had to go bloody remember it. It's not like you can explain to your dream that the reason you're ignoring life is because you like the dream better. It was true as with me as with anybody. I was doing and saying things I'd probably have never done if it weren't for that fact. There was no way I would ever talk to someone in reality the same way I did Sherlock in this dream. I'd most likely get mugged, or something similar to it. Either way, I had two choices. I could tell him that I was using him as an escape from my previous life, which was sorta true, or tell him he would have to use one of his questions, so as to distract him from other things to ask me that I absolutely couldn't answer. Now that I weighed my options, that sounded like the best route to take.

"Nope, can't answer that. Sorry," I informed him, sounding much more cold then I would have liked. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. Old feelings were starting to resurface, ones I didn't want to revisit.

"So you loved him, I take it," Sherlock commented.

"I didn't say that," I said quickly, regretting it instantly.

"But he did love you, didn't he." Sherlock moved back over towards me, picking up more books. "Yet you didn't love him back. Or at least not as strongly as he did. You may have even found the ring he was planning to propose with." I looked away from him pointedly. "Was it a nice ring? Most likely old, his mother's or something along those lines. Must've been waiting for just the right girl to give it to. Probably debated for days whether or not it was the right time." His voice was so mockingly cruel it hurt. "Old romantic, bought you flowers for every birthday and Valentine's, chocolates too, and you acted the very part of model girlfriend. Sweet, loyal, but secretly craving something more, something less boring, more spicy."

"What have I said about assuming how I feel?" I said, stopping his monologue. He looked at me, puzzled. "I said not to do it, you prat! If you want to know, then ask. Dear lord, it's like nothing I say makes it past that afro of yours." He didn't reply right away, going so far as to look in the opposite direction, so I added an addendum. "But you were right." He snapped his head back to me. "He was far more invested in our relationship then I ever was. I loved him in a different way, but I was too cowardly to say anything. Everyone around me was happy, and thought we were the most sickeningly sweet couple you could ever find anywhere." I popped my foot up and held my hands to my chest dramatically. "It was safe, and easy."

"And dull," Sherlock added.

"Extremely," I said. "Then I saw the ring, and it hit me that he was serious. And like the universe always does, it solved my dilemma for me, though he didn't deserve to die." I pulled my feet in closer to my body. "It was stupid. It was raining heavily, so hard you could barely see, and I asked him to go get some crisps. He was walking down the street when a car hit him."

"So it wasn't an automobile accident, it was a hit and run," Sherlock said, running his fingers through his hair. "All this time..."

I looked at him strangely. "All this time what?"

"Nothing," he answered quickly. "But thank you for giving me a reason behind your lack of emotion towards the subject of your dead boyfriend. I didn't even have to use a question on it." He smirked at me as I realised in horror that I had been duped. If he kept this up, there would be a one-hundred percent chance of shit storm coming down on his ass. "That still leaves behind the quandary of your continued in imposition on this residence."

"Do you really wanna use a question on that?" I asked.

Sherlock looked at me closely, and I furrowed my brow, not sure what he was trying to deduce. "No, I think I'll save my four questions at present." He went back over to the other side of the room. "Now, look through more of these books. You've an obligation to fill, remember?" He smiled infuriatingly at me, and I scowled back.

"So we can't chat at all?" I asked in a baby voice. He didn't respond. "Aww, you're no fun." I stood up and stretched, yawning. "I'm gonna make some coffee, you want some?" Still no response. "Whatever." I moved into the kitchen. "You know, one of these days you'll realise that the people around you actually try very hard at what they do to help you. Take John for example. Some day, you should thank him for all the hard work he does on his blog. You may even get a string of visitors who want your help specifically because of it's existence. Hell, at some point you may have teenagers who require your assistance, or the press could start following your every move, and potential clients will might begin fainting in your flat. The possibilities are endless."

"None of those options sound appealing." Finally! An answer from the dickhead himself. "And neither do they sound plausible. They are in fact so ridiculous that they have crossed into the realm of impossibility." Ding ding ding! It's the dickhead alarm, come to slap you across the face at dick o'clock in the morning because someone likes to be a righteous dickhead. Did I mention dickhead?

"When you have eliminated the possible, whatever remains, however impossible, must be the truth," I shot back, using his own words against him. "If by next Christmas those things have all happened, then you have to take me out to dinner. If they haven't, then I have to take you. Deal?" I looked at him expectantly.

"Deal," he said. We didn't speak again until the sun came up and John emerged.

"Oh, both of you are still alive," John said in surprise.

"Obviously," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry, I was just a little worried you know," John commented. "I felt sure that one of you might have eaten the other during the night because you got into some sort of row and couldn't resolve it on your own."

I laughed. "Did you get some good sleep then?"

"Marvellous, thanks for asking." He smiled, taking a drink of coffee. "How was the, er, book club last night?" He looked at the stacks and piles we had made. "I don't envy you in the slightest all this," he said, gesturing to the city of novels and towers of self-help books.

"Eh, it was uneventful. Not to mention boring." I flashed a smirk at Sherlock when John looked the other way. "Barely spoke three words to me. I think my presence has offended him again. He's just not equipped to handle my brand of nonsense and tomfoolery. But then again, few are." My limbs extended, stretching to relieve their stiffness.

"Oh I am perfectly equipped to handle it," Sherlock countered. "I simply choose not to." He smiled back contemptuously. "Best get going John, or you'll be late for work. Goodness knows what a loss that would be."

"See you later," John said, putting his coat on. "Sherlock, play nice. Helen, don't murder him." He left, leaving the two of us alone once more.

We kinda sat in an awkward silence for a moment. I tapped my fingers on the side of a chair. "Well, I'm going to rest up. I'll be taking use of your bed again, so don't disturb me." I went down the hallway and into his room, sighing at the thought of some shut eye. "Good night Sherlock Holmes." My head hit the pillows as I pulled the blankets over me, falling asleep instantaneously.

I woke up in a land of nothing. There was no sound, object, movement, save for my own. I was still on the bed, and I squinted around in confusion. It was absolutely blank. My hands moved the covers off me and I let my feet rest on the ground. I wasn't sure where I was, if this was a dream or if it was just my head processing things. I really hoped it wasn't the end of my dream. What a let down.

I stood up and walked a few paces away from the bed, looking around curiously. The further I got from it the less comfortable I got, so I turned to go back. And it wasn't there. Great. Of course it wasn't.

"Hey, mysterious gods of the universe?" I said. "Can you, you know, teach me my lesson then let me go? This seems a bit melodramatic don't you think? I mean, if you need to give remedial life lessons, a simple pamphlet would suffice. I'd heed the hell out of that." It was starting to feel even more awkward. Maybe I shouldn't speak.

The bottom of a rope fell with a plunk next to me, and I jumped in shock. "Really?" I said sarcastically. "A rope?" I gave it a tug, and found it was firmly attached to something above, something I couldn't see. "What the fuck do I do with this?" Still no answer. "Alright, well, I'm not gonna climb it if that's what you think." I grabbed onto it and hoisted my legs up, swinging on it back and forth like a swing. "Wheeeeeeee!" I was simply soaring through the air, but it brought so much enjoyment it's hard to describe. "Look at me bitches, I'm flying!"

Suddenly I fell, my bottom hitting the ground with a thump. "Ow!" The other end of the rope began falling down, somehow no longer able to take weight. It landed with a thud next to me, completely useless. "Oh I see, you guys just wanted to see what I would do and then make fun of me. Well, I hope it was a nice laugh!" I said, reaching for the cord. I saw a splash of red, and looked at my hands, now coated in it. "And now you're making me bleed. Real mature gods, real mature." The ground began to rumble, and I was jostled as my teeth chatted against one another. "Now you're just being childish," I said, sticking my fingers in my ears. "La la la la la, can't hear you!" My entire body was being tossed from side to side, until...

"Wake up!" Sherlock was shaking me, and in my confusion I lashed out. A punch landed right on his nose.

"Oh god, I'm sorry!" I said, getting out of bed. He had turned around from the force, and was now nursing his face. "Let me get you something." I scrambled, trying to find a napkin. There was a box of tissues which I grabbed and handed to him. "Here," I said. He tilted his head back and plugged his nose to stop the bleeding. "No, not back. You've got to lean your head forward. Back and the blood just drains down your throat. I know because one time I had a nosebleed and let my head hang back, and I coughed up a huge glob of the stuff."

"If your aim was to make me feel better with that story, you failed miserably," he said, still surprisingly coherent after stuffing his nose with tissues. I saw him contort his face in pain, and grimaced guiltily.

"Well it's not like I asked you to come in and rudely wake me up the way you did," I scolded, checking the clock. It was four PM. "What did you want anyway?"

"I needed your help," he said, wiping at his nose. "I've been trying to think of books that everybody would have, instead of sifting through the crates. Thought it would be simpler. I've already checked the bible, dictionary, and other classics."

"Hold on, give me a second." I stood there, breathing deeply with closed eyes.

"Could you be a bit faster? This is kind of important."

"Hm? Oh, sorry, I was trying to commit you asking for my help to memory."

"Oh for gods sakes," he seethed, leaving me alone. I followed after, eager to anger him some more.

"John, I need to get some air. We're going out tonight." Sherlock was talking to the doctor who had just arrived back.

"Actually, I can't," John said. I smirked as I thought about his date. "I've got plans to stay home and watch television. It was long day at work and I'm ready to put my feet up."

"Wait, what?" I said, looking at him incredulously. "Don't you have a date with Sarah, the lady at your work you've been eyeing?"

John looked at me with raised eyebrows and a smile. "No, I didn't even have time to speak with her after all the patients I treated. There were a lot, I can tell you that."

"No, no, no, no!" I said angrily. Both Sherlock and John looked at me. "That's not how it's supposed to happen! You were supposed to come home and deny Sherlock's offer to go out tonight because you had a date! After falling asleep at work you would wake up later on and realise she had done more then a few of your patients for you, and then she'd ask why you were up so late, then you'd reply it was because you were attending a book event, and she'd ask if your girlfriend likes books, to which you'd say it wasn't a date and then follow up with saying you don't have one tonight either, and then you'd giggle together like schoolgirls." I walked over to Sherlock and gestured towards him. "Then when you got back and denied his offer, he would ask where you were going to which you'd reply the cinema, then he'd say it was dull and suggest taking her to the circus, which you'd scoff at but take her anyway, and once you arrived there to pick up the tickets you'd discover that there were three tickets instead of just two, and that this sly guy over here had booked an extra one to crash your date because in reality, he wanted to go because he realised that this circus was probably a front for the smuggling ring to get into London!" I finished, breathing heavily.

I looked at the two of them in turn, who glanced at each other in confusion.

"Oh... Shit. Yeah, you should ignore that. I was joking. Ha ha ha, see? It's funny."

* * *

Well met my followers! So, I just wanted to thank you guys for being all nice and everything. Really, I do not deserve your kindness. But you guys should know that my confidence level is shot right now. Is this story still any good? Seriously, is it funny or even interesting? I read another story that has more chapters then mine but less overall words, and it has 170 some reviews! Maybe I'm just being arrogant, but I thought that maybe my writing was a tad more mature and eloquent, so I deserve more reviews. I dunno, I'm just real depressed is all. The only thing that their fic has that mine doesn't is fluff. Is that what you guys want? Some godamn fluff? Believe me, I can rip all the cynicism out of this story and replace it with sickening, god awful romance if that's what you want (please don't make me do that).

Anyway, leave a review. Or don't. You know how much authors love not receiving reviews.

Also, if you have questions, go to my tumblr. You don't even need an account, you can ask anonymously. Just go to my profile for the link.


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Cynicism is in season apparently, but there is this much fluff (-) if you squint really hard. Most of it is just arguing as usual though, so don't think I've gone soft.

* * *

Chapter 16

I smiled awkwardly, I stood awkwardly, hell, I even breathed awkwardly. The silence that followed my strange outburst was uncomfortable to say the least. John struggled for words while Sherlock narrowed his eyes at me, trying to figure out how I knew what his plan might have been had what I had just said actually occurred.

"Helen," John said, a furrow in his brow. "Are you telling me that if I had had a date tonight, Sherlock would have crashed it to serve his own purposes?"

"Yeah," I answered lamely.

"Really John? That's what you focus on?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "How incredibly pedestrian of you."

"No, no, that is not pedestrian Sherlock, it is principle. My blasted principle against your megalomania, and I'll lose out every time." John was getting worked up now. I began to back out, but Sherlock gave me a warning look. "Is there a place in your brain where you filter out any grain of human decency? Tell me Sherlock, is there? Because although I couldn't follow all of that," John said, pointing his finger at me, "I did catch on to that much, and it certainly didn't sound unlike you."

Sherlock walked closer to his flatmate. "John, I-"

"You know what, just forget it Sherlock. Just forget it." John picked up his coat and put it on. "I'm going for a walk. Don't wait up for me." He left in a hurry, not making eye contact with either of us the entire time.

"Congratulations," Sherlock said. "I expect you'll be satisfied then."

"W-what?" I asked. I was thoroughly confused and more then a little bit afraid.

"You've achieved your goal, driving a wedge between he and I," Sherlock told me. "Rather theatrical way of doing it, don't you think? A bit heavy handed for my taste, but extremely effective." He picked up his violin and bow, placing the instrument underneath his chin. "You can let yourself out." He walked over to the window, presumably to watch John walk away.

I stood there, not sure what to say or do. Was he angry? Upset? Confused? All three? "I don't understand..."

"Well apparently you do," Sherlock said, whipping around to face me. "In fact you understand too much for my liking, and I have found it to be insufferable. Every moment in your presence ranks among the most displeasureable moments in my life and, indeed, has toppled previous records." He moved closer, predatory. "You are now the one who has overstepped their bounds, and it is a _grievous_ breach I assure you." We were standing centimetres apart. "It is your insincerity that has caused this." His breath was cold, swallowing me in ice.

"Was it really my insincerity, Mr. Holmes, or your lack of tact?" I asked. "We both know that would have been your precise course of action had I been right. I apologise for paining Doctor Watson, but I am not sorry that your character is perhaps a bit plainer to him now." I walked away from him and towards the door when he seized my wrist. "Let go!" I tugged and looked back at him, violin and bow in one hand, hair mussed, frown etched into his features. "Let go you bastard! Let go!" A lump formed in my throat, but why I didn't know.

He pulled me closer until our noses were nearly touching, placing his instrument on a side table. My eyes threatened tears, but I shoved them back down, turning sadness into anger. He looked at me intensely, eyes not quivering, chest heaving, and I could hear his heartbeat drumming. The whole world slowed as I listened to that thrum, and although we made no contact I could feel the heat of his body through the air as it radiated warmth.

I snapped out of my reverie as quickly as I had fallen in, and brought up my other hand to punch him, but he grabbed that one also.

"Let go," I whispered.

"And if I say no?" He replied icily.

"Will you say no?" I asked.

"I might," he answered.

"Then go ahead and do it," I said. "See what happens."

We remained in this position for some minutes, until he opened his palms. My hands stayed where they were for a moment, and then I drew them back. He stared me down as I retreated, refusing to turn my back on him. I ran into several tables, stumbling as I went. When I reached the door, I opened it slowly. He hadn't moved the entire time I backed up. My own heartbeat, while strangely calm while he had me trapped, began to beat wildly out of fear and uncertainty. I inched the door open and slid behind it, keeping one eye on him until the last second when I scurried away, shutting the door with a thud. I ran as fast as I could, barricading myself behind the door to my own flat.

I had to get out of here. There had to be a way to wake up. I ran to the kitchen and turned on the cold water, sticking my head in the sink to let the chill seep through my hair and scalp.

"Wake up," I muttered through gritted teeth. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!" My head was screaming from the ice cold tap, dancing between a sharp pain and a dull ache. Oh, wait, the ache was just a migraine. Great. That's just what I needed. To have a headache in the middle of a dream. Sounds wonderful. God I wanted to punch something. I turned the water off and squeezed my hair to rid it of the dampness. I pulled my head out and sighed, hands gripping either side of the sink firmly.

What else could I manage? I pinched my arm again, but it just left a welt and a stinging sensation. And there it was again. Actual pain. It didn't feel the way normal dream pain did. This time it actually hurt. And not just physically, but I was emotionally hurt too. Hurt by Sherlock. Regardless of whether or not this was real, it was still no fun. When is pain ever fun? Isn't that the purpose of dreams? To be fun? Take you to worlds that don't exist anywhere else except in your mind? So, if this wasn't a dream, then it must be a nightmare. But it couldn't be that. I wasn't in a perpetual state of terror. I was in a perpetual state of irritation, but that hardly paralleled. The only thing I could do was ignore the matter as long as possible until it was solved for me. You know, like how Americans react to trouble.

My head was throbbing. I had no money, so I couldn't buy anything such as aspirin or the like. There certainly was no way I was going to bum some off of Sherlock. I wasn't going to go near him with a ten foot pole if at all possible. John was off to god knows where. So that left...

_Knock knock_

"Oh dear, it's so good to see you!" Mrs. Hudson gave me a kiss on the cheek. "How are you doing? I know you had a hard time getting that flat livable. I had a bit of a look see, it looks nice down there." She let me inside and led me to an eating area. "And I do so appreciate your working so hard. Especially with the boys around. Shall I make some tea?"

"I'd love some," I said, taking a seat at her dining table. "How's your hip doing?"

"Oh, it's fine." She went down the hall to the kitchen to put the kettle on, and got out a plate. "Just resting it up most days does the trick. I noticed I've been out with the boys though. Bit exciting I bet, all that running around looking for clues." She set a dish of snacks in front of me, and I reached for them gratefully. "What kind of tea would you like dear? I've got earl grey, breakfast tea, and Darjeeling."

"Breakfast tea," I answered. I picked up a chocolate looking treat and but into it, grinning at the taste. "These are really good Mrs. Hudson. Where'd you get them?"

"My kitchen," she said with a laugh. "I'm an old woman Helen. I bake things."

"Baking in Baker St, what will the neighbours say?" I joked.

"That's a good one, I'll have to remember it." The kettle began to whistle. "Do you take cream in your tea?"

"Yes ma'am." She came in and set a cuppa in front of me and a little jug next to it. The old lady went back into the kitchen for her own cup and brought a cup of sugar cubes with her. I took two and stirred them in, then added cream. "Mmm," I said after taking a sip. "This is a good brand."

"Never scrimp on tea my mother used to say," Mrs. Hudson said with a smile. "I think it's a good philosophy to live by." She clapped a hand to get face. "I forgot to turn off the oven! Oh dear!" She ran off, leaving me by myself.

"Mrs. Hudson, the door was open and I just-" Sherlock deadpanned upon entering her flat and spied me sitting down at her table. I gave him a wry smile and drank from my cup meaningfully. He didn't move his head, but spoke loudly. "Mrs. Hudson, it appears you've vermin in your dining room. Would you like me to dispose of it for you?"

"That won't be necessary," I called over his voice. "Sherlock just had a bad fright after looking into your mirror. The matter can be duly resolved once he comes to terms with the fact that he will be forever remembered as an otter." My smile was an utter lie, and so forced the sides of my mouth began to twitch slightly.

"What are the two of you on about?" Mrs. Hudson said, returning to find us throttling each other using the ever suggestive and imperceptible movements of our eyes. "Oh dear, I feel like I'm interrupting something," she said with a giggle. "I'll just leave to give you some privacy, shall I? I've got some shopping that needs doing. If you could close the door on your way out." She left us alone to our stasis.

He stared at me.

I stared at him.

He narrowed his eyes.

I raised my eyebrows.

He tilted his head in one direction.

I tilted mine in the other direction.

He tilted his head back normal.

I tilted my head back normal.

His nostrils flared.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

"You are an underhanded and unashamed precipitator of discord and mischief whose very presence evokes that of chaos, misunderstanding, brutal betrayal, and disgust, and ninety percent of the time your character is imbued with a sense of frustrating complacency, while the other ten percent with a misguided mission of dissolution into the very hearts and souls of all people who walk this earth," He spat at me, drawing a long intake of air after he had finished.

"You are a miserable, vomitous mass who's temperament is akin to a castrated beast stuffed inside a cage where it is impossible to either sit or stand comfortably, whilst also being sprayed with an ice cold jet of water that was sifted from an underground sewer, and in your misery saw fit to wail and bemoan your fate in such a vociferous manner that it viciously cut the ears of all innocent beings who, by happenstance, were close enough to listen," I shot back.

He took a step closer. "If I was tasked with sealing your pestilence away into one room, it would have to be custom built so as to accommodate your wretched and loathsome tongue, and I would be forced to build the foundations deep within the icy desert of Antarctica, so as to freeze out the bitterness."

I stood up. "And I'd lock you in a room with twenty small children."

"Your behaviour is utterly insupportable," he informed me.

"And your behaviour is most inexcusable," I informed him.

"I wish you the most vigorous ill."

"I wish you the most heinous boredom."

There was an awkward silence following this. I revelled in the mysterious disappearance of my headache. He turned up his coat collar.

"Want to come to the Chinese circus?" He asked me.

"Love to," I said, following him out.

* * *

So they had a moment, if you could call it one. Personally, I didn't write their little moment with any romantic intention, but it's there if you look hard.

First off, I need to thank pruplup4 after she left me the longest and most flattering review I have ever received _ever._ It was so long, my email cut it short and said I had to go onto here to read it in full. Thanks little popcorn kernel!

Next. I am sooo done with this episode. Seriously, I want to get to the next one so I can be all evil and crap. And what do I mean by that? I'll never tell! (Except I'll tell my friend Jennifer cuz she basically already knows the whole plot) Yeah, I have a plan for what I want to happen in every episode. It's gonna be sweet (and by that I mean devious).

Next, it may be a week before the next update. This is a birthday present to me, as my birthday is tomorrow. It's hard to write this cynical stuff you guys seem to love so much (can't imagine why you do).

Finally, have a wonderful day, leave a review as a b-day present, friend me on Facebook, follow me on tumblr, or just ask me anon asks there. Please? I'll even give spoilers if you ask. Seriously, I'm not good at keeping plot bunnies to myself.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

We made it to the theatre with plenty of time to spare and went to pick up our tickets.

"Tickets, name of Holmes," Sherlock said. "There should be two."

"Um," the man said. "I actually have three in that name."

"Hello Sherlock," said a voice from behind us. We turned to look and saw John standing there. "Sorry to crash your date, except, well, I'm not." He grinned at us, and I laughed.

"Oh Jawn, you're the most adorable little hedgehog to ever walk this earth," I said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Hedgehog?" He asked. "Those aren't particularly threatening creatures, so I'm a bit disappointed."

"It's alright John," Sherlock said, collecting the tickets. "Earlier Helen called me an otter. Safe to say she's not discriminating with these sorts of things." The two of them had a bit of a stare down. "If you're still angry, then why are you here?"

"Couldn't let you do something stupid and get yourself killed, now could I?" John said, folding his arms. "Besides, you never know when you might need a spare pair of hands." He didn't sound angry any more. Maybe irritated, but not angry.

I began wigging out, my inner fangirl taking over for a moment. "Oh my god, that is the absolute cutest thing I have ever seen in my entire life, guuuuurgh!" If I was crazy, at this point I would have probably been frothing at the mouth. Which I'm sad to say that moment wasn't too far away. "You guys are so slashy, fuck, OTP coming at ya. I SHIP IT SO HARD." And thus I descended into another incoherent singularity. "Screw canon and screw Moffat. I will go down with this ship, unto thee I swear it!"

"Have you any idea what she's talking about?" John said.

"No," Sherlock said. "But I have the distinct impression that we probably do not want to know what she is talking about." He handed us our tickets. "Let's get inside."

"Ooh, can I have the thing the tickets came in?" I asked. My eyes were huge as I held out my hands like a child. "Can I can I can I?" I was acting like a kid, still not fully recovered from the fangirl high from a few moments ago. He looked at me with one raised eyebrow, but placed the tiny slip on paper in my hands. "Yes! Ermergerhd, this is the best thing to happen since canned bread!" I gave the stony faced man a peck on the cheek and ran ahead of them, skipping as I went.

Sherlock stood stock still next to his friend.

"Well," John began. "Look at you."

He betrayed no emotion whatsoever. "I don't know what you're referring to," Sherlock said, filing into the theatre, John snickering behind him as he followed.

"That's sweet of her, giving you a kiss on the cheek," he said.

"Shut up John," Sherlock said.

I milled about, gazing at the candles and spooky atmosphere.

"Any particular reason you desired the envelope our tickets came in?" Sherlock whispered into my ear.

"Suppose there was," I said quietly, not looking behind me where he must be standing. "Would you like to use a question on that?"

"No," he answered. "I'm saving them for the future. I was hoping that perhaps it was of such little consequence that revealing said purposes would be of no trouble."

"Oh, you're so naive when you assume things," I teased. "But you are right, it is such a petty thing to ask for. Trivial really." My mouth smirked unwillingly. "However I am not sure if you are prepared for what I have to say. Indeed my words may shock you to such a degree that you will, in fact, be speechless." This was fun. I disliked all the arguing and anger, but this was mere jest. I had to work just as hard at it, but mind you, the payoff was well worth the effort.

"Oh I highly doubt that," Sherlock said. "I am always ready for what others might say so as to respond exactly how I mean to in effort to avoid as much nonsensical miscommunication that I can."

"It seems to me that type of behaviour would rather discourage others from conversing with your person, but that couldn't possibly be your goal now could it?" I said, using as much ire as I could muster. "But no matter. Well, since you're so keen on discovering why, I'll tell you. The reason why, is because I wanted to treasure this memory as long as possible."

He laughed. "I see how it is. If you don't tell me I'll just be forced to find out otherwise."

"Aww, there you go again, _assuming_ I was patronising you!" I said, wringing my hands in mock disappointment. "I was telling the truth you nitwit. The ticket stub may tell me I came here, but the envelope will help me remember that it was with you. It's not everyday that you get to infiltrate an international smuggling ring with none other then the Sherlock Holmes." I looked back at him, and we grinned in unison as the drums began.

John looked at me incredulously, and I shrugged my shoulders. He rolled his eyes as the demonstration began. We watched as the costumed woman plucked a feather from her headdress and placed it in the weight sensitive bowl, sending a bolt soaring through the air while the crowd, myself and Sherlock excluded, jumped about a foot in the air. We all clapped as the man stepped forward to be chained.

"Classic Chinese escapology act," I whispered to John, glancing at Sherlock and giving him a wink as I did so. I loved stealing his lines. Turning back to John, I stole his next words too. "See that crossbow? It's set on a delicate string. He has to escape before it skewers him." She picked up a knife. "See, she's gonna stick that in the bag and let the sand spill out, letting the weight drop gently into the bowl." The man grunted and struggled, and I sneaking a peak behind John to see Sherlock was gone.

"Oh my god," John muttered in amazement, clapping as the man grunted in triumph from having freed himself before dying a terrible and painful death. He too looked behind and saw Sherlock had left. "Does he have to sneak off like this?" John said in frustration. Just barely visible was his unwavering concern.

"Did you really expect him to bring us _along_?" I asked in amusement.

"Well," John said. "I guess not. That still doesn't mean that's right."

"You know, I have a question John." I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. "For not knowing much about either of you basically at all, and having technically only known you both for a few days, the both of you seem awfully comfortable letting me just, kinda, _you know_..."

"Kinda you know what?" I think he was thoroughly confused as to my meaning. I stared at him meaningfully for a few moments, but he shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head.

"Oh dear lord," I said, rolling my eyes. "You guys seem fine letting me get in the way of, _things_."

"Things? W-what things? You're another person for him to solve crimes with. Sherlock did the exact same thing with me. We had known each other scarcely a day before he took me to the scene of a murder. You really don't need to worry about it." He patted my shoulder. "Seriously, you've been able to hand more of his character then most. You should get a medal. I should too."

"I wasn't talking about that," I said in exasperation. "I mean I feel bad for being such a cockblock is all."

We both stared at each other, him deaf to the performer soaring through the air, and me raising my eyebrows unapologetically.

"You know what, I'm gonna pretend you didn't even say that sentence." John looked away. "Good performance don't you think? I wish I had asked Sarah here, she would have enjoyed this. Would've been a great place for a date."

I watched as the curtain moved erratically and narrowed my eyes. "Yeah, it would have been great up until the point when Sherlock showed up. Tell me again how you hope to gain a steady girlfriend when he has you at his beck and call?"

"I am not at his beck and call!" John protested.

As if on cue, Sherlock fell out of the curtain and into the circle of candles, and both of us looked at him at the same time. He was followed by the costumed man from previously, and John rushed off to intervene.

"Way to prove my point..." I grumbled. I grabbed a piece of wood and started thrashing the guy about to get at Sherlock mercilessly. He grabbed at the man's shoe, revealing the Black Lotus tattoo on the heel of his foot. I offered my hand out and helped him to his feet.

"Come on," Sherlock said, pulling me with him. "Let's go." John followed us as we exited the theatre as quickly as possible. Outside Sherlock hailed a cab. "I knew it," he said, wringing his hands as we crammed in. "A Chinese circus in good one night only? Obvious. There was no other explanation for it." He took out his cell phone. "I must call that dimwit from earlier and tell him to send a few cars over. He dialled the number and began ordering the man around. "You need to send officers to the address I'm about to text you. There's a smuggling ring that operated out of that facility tonight. You should catch them before they leave." He hung up then texted him the location.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Fine, why wouldn't I be?" He said, looking at me expectantly.

"Well you did just fend off an assassin," I pointed out. "I'm sure he got a few swipes in at one moment or another during your struggle, and in betting he wasn't being soft about them. Not to mention you kinda fell off the stage and onto a hardwood floor. That couldn't have been comfortable."

"I am perfectly fine," he replied icily.

"Hey hey _woah woah_ hey!" I said, hitting him upside the head. "Trying to show concern for you is something a friend does because they care. I'm not trying to mother you nitwit, so stop acting like my worry was repulsive or something. Even John was worried for you. Geez. It's not like I'm being overprotective like Mycroft." I probably didn't need to get that angry, but the way he said it just pissed me off.

"It hardly matters," Sherlock said in response to my tirade. "Besides, your anger is not in fact anger, but a further manifestation of your concern for my welfare. If you hadn't already admitted that, then I would have pointed it out at the present for the sake of actually provoking you to anger."

It was hard to stay mad at him when he said things like that. "You were planning to make me angry? Aww, come here!" I latched onto his head and noogied him. "You great big genius you."

He swatted at me, but in the close corners of the cab it was near impossible for him to escape. "This is uncomfortable. I must insist that you cease action now or your revenge will be nigh."

"Bring it on dickhead!" I yelled, going to town on his skull. "It probably doesn't even hurt that much you little wuss. I mean, your afro has to help somewhat at least, right!" My skill with the noogie is unparalleled. "Didn't you and your brother ever give each other noogies? No, I bet you were all respectable and shit, playing with your words. How utterly boring." I let go of his head and smiled like a devil. "See? It's a lot of fun." His hair was just the same as before, except cooler somehow. His hair had that quality of looking curled but clean, but now it was messy with a touch of ease, like he had styled it to look messy on purpose and be all hipstery. Ticked me off. How could he get his head to look like that after I just gave him the one noogie to rule them all?

"In fact, that was my childhood," Sherlock commented. He gave me a look that scared me stiff. "But do not think I am unfamiliar with the concept of rough housing." He grabbed my head and gave me the same treatment, if not worse.

"Spawn of Satan!" I yelled, flailing helplessly. "It's the Cumberpocalypse! Somebody stop him before my eyes turn black!"

John rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I'm sorry about this," he said to the cabbie.

"It's alright, I've had worse in the back then the likes of them," he responded. "One time, a couple tried to have sex back there." He chuckled. "They seemed nice enough, until the just went at it. Like animals almost."

"Really?" John asked.

"Oh yeah," he replied. "Funny couple. For some reason the word MorMor comes to mind. Can't think why."

* * *

OH YEAH. I WENT THERE.

So what up? Yeah it's been forever. Too bad for you, but my life is meh so things happen. Anyway, here's this lovely chapter for all you peeps. What do you think? I still hate this episode. Well, I love this episode, but I want to get to the next one soo bad! With Mycroft and Moriarty and I can't wait!

Anyway, if you liked this story leave a review. Links to my tumblr, Facebook, and YouTube are in my profile, so if you wanna check them out go right ahead. On tumblr I fangirl, Facebook I make random posts, and YouTube I make anime reviews. If that's your thing, then go see what's up. Talk to you next time!


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"I sent a couple of cars, the old hall is totally deserted," Dimmock said, us three trailing after him closely though the crowded office space. I felt distinctly uncomfortable, as if the eyes of Anderson and Donovan were watching and judging me. Not that I particularly cared. They could piss off as far as I was concerned.

An arm pulled me back as John and Sherlock went on ahead with the DI.

"Listen, I don't know who you are or what kind of thing you've got going on with Sherlock Holmes, but stay away." It was Donovan. Wonderful. That's exactly what I wanted. To see her ugly mug in my face. "He's dangerous. It's not safe to be around him."

I snorted. "Yeah, he's a consulting detective who runs around trying to solve murders for a living. I'm sure I had no idea that if I stuck around I might get shot or something. Thanks for the heads up!" I smiled sarcastically and tried to walk away, but she stopped me.

"You really don't know him," she said.

"Oh, and you claim to?" I laughed. "I am perfectly aware of everything he is capable of, and I honestly don't care what happens to me in the process. It's just a good bit of fun." I shrugged my shoulders. "These past few days have been fantastic. In the end, that's all that really matters isn't it."

"You're just the same as him," she spat at me. "Just another freak psychopath, that's what you are."

I rolled my eyes. "You know, I wonder how you think this is affecting me, because honest to god I couldn't give two shits about your opinion. In fact I think it's pretty sad that you think it necessary to say such awful things just for the purpose of making others feel inferior. What does that say about your character, hmmm?" We stared at each other for what seemed like an age when Sherlock and John came to my rescue.

"Sorry to interrupt your little pow wow Donovan, but I am in need of Helen's presence." Sherlock grabbed my hand and held it aloft. "Excuse us." He led me away from her, and I could tell he was revelling in the opportunity to be pretentious in front of her. I elbowed him and grinned.

"Thank you," I said. "I can only withstand so much insuffrability before my brain implodes." We looked like such an odd pair, as he still held my hand up as if about to twirl me in a circle. A posh life in a posh way, is superior to idiocy any day! I'm not exactly sure why I thought that. Maybe all the pretension was getting to my head. Nah, I would never sink that low. The very thought! "So, off to home then?"

"Yes," he replied. He continued to lead me away until I stopped suddenly. "What, what is it?"

My eyes looked at him, wide and waiting. "Ahem." I tugged on my hand, still clasped firmly in his. "May I have it back?" He dropped it immediately. "Thank you. Let's continue on, shall we?" We made our way back to Baker St.

"They'll be back in China by tomorrow,"John said.

"They won't leave. Not without finding what they came for. We need to find a hideout, a rendezvous. Somewhere in this message, it must tell us." Sherlock took off his coat and staff and studied the mass of papers tacked above the fireplace. The flat was a mess. Books strewn everywhere, other papers just laying about. Sherlock gathered a few materials and began reviewing them for more clues.

John looked at me and shrugged his shoulders, then went off to find something to nom on.

I thought for a moment about what was supposed to happen next. In a moment I was off, searching for the evidence bag that Dimmock brought the night that Soo Lin Yao died. A lump formed in my throat as I found it on the desk, staring at the translation she must have done whilst my back was turned. I shook my head. It was no use dwelling.

I turned to Sherlock. "Hey, you with the face." He looked at me in disdain. "Yeah, you."

"Despite the fact that your words were phrased slightly less then that which is inelegant, I'll humour you and ask what I presume what it is you want me to ask. Is there something you'd like to perhaps share with me? Has your lack of a job or any real purpose besides pestering me left you wanton?"

I laughed. "Fine then," I said, backing away from him. "Be an ass and I won't give you this." I held the bag up and waved it teasingly.

"For what reason would I possible want that?" He asked nastily.

I looked at it and made a face. I removed the picture carefully. "Well, I guess if you don't want the first two words to the cipher then I guess there's no use for this. Maybe I should just burn it and be done." I picked up a lighter. "What say you, Sherlock Holmes?" I lit it, holding the flame inches away from the paper. "Should we turn this shindig into a pyro festival?"

"Wait!" He said, getting to his feet. "Give that here."

"Ask me nicely."

"Give it here, please."

"Aww, you're so adorable when you act like a righteous dick. Tell you what. Give me your card and I'll give this to you." I waved the evidence in front of my face. "Come on big guy. If you look deep into your heart, I'm sure you'll know the right thing to."

He narrowed his eyes at me. I'm sure I was enough of a risk that he believed I might actually follow through with my threat. Carefully he moved towards John's coat and pulled out the card. "Now," he said, extending a hand. "The photograph."

"Do you honestly think I'm dumb enough to fall for that?" I tutted. "Dear me, someone thinks I'm a fool. Can't have that. John!" I called to him. He came over and appraised the situation. "I want you to take the card," I said. "And then take this." I brandished the photo. "After you've done that, hand me the card and him the paper, and we all walk away happy. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Sherlock said. "On three. One, two, three!"

Simultaneously we handed our respective objects to John, who then handed us the other object in return.

"See? That wasn't hard, now was it?" I smirked. He had already studied the photo on a matter of seconds, steadfastly ignoring me on the process.

"I've got to get back to the museum," he said, grabbing his coat and scarf. "The book must have been sitting there on the desk." Suddenly he grabbed my shoulders. "Wait, you were there. Didn't you see it happen?" He started spinning me around. "Close your eyes and visualise it. Maximise your memory."

"Sherlock, I don't remember." I knew I couldn't tell him. I didn't know how it would effect things. Trying to change the events I knew were going to occur ended miserably, and when I didn't try and change things they ended up being different. I was already tempting fate as much as I was, and I wasn't going to try and go further then that.

"Uh, useless!" Sherlock released me and ran off. "If I get the book, we'll be able to solve this case and crack the cipher!" And with that he was gone.

My head spun, and I briefly stumbled. "Man, he really has a one track mind."

"That's Sherlock," John said with a chuckle. "Do you want to order some Chinese?"

"Love to," I said. He phoned up while I laid back on the couch. "UMQRA," I said mindlessly.

"What's that?" John asked, still waiting for them to pick up.

"Absolutely nothing," I replied. I giggled on the inside. UMQRA. It really did mean nothing, but then again it did mean something. Well, it meant something later. Not now of course. We waited for a few minutes, sipping coffee as we did so. After a while there was a knock on the front door.

"Wow that was fast," he said, climbing down the steps to answer the door. I could hear the voices streaming up to where I sat patiently, my tools all in place for what was to come.

"Do you have it? Do you have the treasure?"

"I don't understand," he replied. I heard his body slump to the ground as I nervously drank, trying to stay as relaxed as possible. In moments I received yet another blow to the back of the head, and blacked out.

A dull ache persisted at the back of my neck. I groaned, opening my eyes to a dark tunnel. So far, so predictable.

"A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket." I glanced to my side to see John sitting there, mouth gagged. I assumed correctly that he would be. Good. Well, not good, but it could be worse. He could be dead. A woman clad in sunglasses moved towards me, and removed her shades. "Chinese proverb, Ms. Holmes."

Success! My carefully cultivated plan had come to fruition. Once I had realised that John wasn't going to yell at Sherlock when were at Soo Lin Yao's flat, I also realised that could change things. Maybe they would actually take Sherlock instead of John if they didn't mistake one for the other. Maybe someone would die. Maybe Sherlock would die. Not that it mattered. This was a dream after all. I couldn't get hurt. But if Sherlock died, then that would mean the dream would be over, and I was having so much fun messing with him!

"I'm not Sherlock Holmes," I said calmly. From my vantage point I could see John trying to untie his bonds. Good soldier. Don't be a damsel in distress. Not that I was doing much to negate that fact myself.

"Forgive me if I do not take your word for it," she said, reaching into my coat pocket and pulling out my wad of Sherlock paraphernalia. "Debit card, name of S. Holmes." I remained as still as possible. "A cheque for five thousand pounds, made out in the name of Sherlock Holmes." I bit my lip. "Tickets from the theatre, name of Holmes."

"You don't know that these are mine. I could have just stolen his wallet." It's harder to shrug your shoulders when tied up I found. Nonetheless, I tried.

"We heard it from your own mouth."

I burst out into laughter. She was taken aback. "Oh yeah, I did do that didn't I. Oh well," I said, ire thick in my tone. "I guess you've caught me then. Woah, hey, easy there." Suddenly a very big and very real looking gun was pointed at my head.

"Do you think this is a joke?" Her voice was incredibly intimidating considering the circumstances. Not like I cared.

"A joke? Oh no." I shook my head lazily. "This is a very well thought out prank is all."

The gun pressed into my head, and its cold tip made me shudder involuntarily. "Do you know who I am?"

"I thought is was Shan, but correct me if I'm wrong."

She sneered and pressed the tip harder into my skull. "Three times we tried to kill you and your companions, Ms. Holmes. She was pretty darn irritated now with my sass. "What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?" I stayed silent this time as she readied the gun. My eyes met hers as we simply stared one another down, her fingering the trigger lightly and me not flinching for one second.

Click!

"It tells you they're not really trying," she said. I gave her a wry smile. "Your reputation precedes you Ms. Holmes. How did you know there would be no bullet?"

"Lucky guess," I said nonchalantly. "Three tries you wanted to kill me?" I laughed. "It was a ploy. You only wanted to pique my interest." I looked around. "Well, consider it piqued. Though I must say what you've done so far is a tad melodramatic for my taste-"

She smacked me on the mouth with the gun. "Do you have it?"

"Shit." I could taste blood pooling at the corner of my mouth. "Do I have what?"

"The treasure."

"I don't have the foggiest what you mean."

She turned away. "I would prefer to make certain." A cloth was pulled off the same deadly contraption from earlier. "Everything in the west has its price." Dear Hume, could she stop with the overzealous dramatisation! Not every utterance and movement has to possess deep connotation. This isn't a Michael Bay film for goodness sakes! "And the price for his life: information." I looked over at him, and he seemed a little nervous. They moved his chair in front of the death flyer thingie. "Where's the hairpin?"

"What?" I asked innocently.

"The empress pin. Valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the west. And then one of our people was greedy. He took it. Brought it back to London. And you, Ms. Holmes, have been searching."

I laughed again. "If you knew the mistake you were making perhaps you wouldn't be acting so high and mighty. You should really do some research Shan, before you kidnap random people who haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"I need a volunteer from the audience," she said impetuously. Shan turned away from me. "Ah, thank you sir. Yes, you'll do very nicely." At this point John began to fidget as she stabbed the bag of sand. Hurry up Sherlock! There was nothing I could do for him in my state. "Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Sherlock Holmes' handsome companion in a defying act." She placed an origami lotus in his lap. "You've seen the act before, how dull for you. You know how it ends."

"My name is not Sherlock Holmes!" I yelled. At this point my heart was beating wildly, not believing it was only a dream.

"I don't believe you," she said.

"You should you know," said a voice from behind her. Thank god. She turned around and pointed her gun at him. "Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like her. How would you describe me Helen? Resourceful, dynamic, enigmatic?"

"Like you're ten minutes too late, you giant twat!" Oh, my words may have been angry but his voice was a sound for sore ears.

"That's a semiautomatic. You fire it the bullet will travel over a thousand metres per second."

"Well?"

"Well," he said, taking down her body guard. "The radius curvature of these walls is nearly four metres. If you miss the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you." A flame extinguished and it was harder to for Shan to see. Sherlock crept behind John and began untying him.

"Behind you!" I yelled. I sighed as the other guard began strangling him. The bag of sand was still sinking, so I tried to stand up and make my way over to the cross bow thing, but fell over in the process. If I could just nudge it...

At that moment, time stopped for just me. If I moved it, then the guard would die. If I didn't, John would die. If I moved it, then I just killed him. If I didn't move it, then I chose not to save John. I didn't want to kill him. But I needed to save John. Which was the right thing to do? Which was the moral thing to do? Which was the logical thing to do? Someone tell me, please.

Suddenly the face of Soo Lin Yao filled my head, and I remembered that this guard was Zhi Zhu. In an instant I kicked it, and the bolt was sent straight into his heart. He stumbled back then fell, dead. The lasso around Sherlock's neck loosened, and Shan ran off. He began undoing John's bindings, as I squirmed over to them.

"Well," I said. "That was fun wasn't it."

John sighed as he stood up. "Fun? I was almost killed."

"You were fine," I scolded. "If worse came to worse you could've just tipped your chair over. That would've solved the problem at hand."

We all gave each other looks, then burst out in giggles.

We made it back to the flat with no problem, just enjoying the merits of solving the case and looking forward to a good cup of coffee. Sherlock poured everyone a cup in a nice change of character for once.

"Nine million," I commented.

"Yeah, nine million for jade pin, black Dragon den tramway." John fiddled with his cup.

"An instruction to all their London operatives," Sherlock explained. "A message. What they were trying to reclaim."

"What, a jade pin?" He asked.

"A jade pin worth nine million pounds," I cut in. "Take it to the tramway, their London base of operations."

"Well hang on, a hair pin worth nine million pounds?"

"Apparently," Sherlock answered, preparing to take a sip.

"Why so much?"

"Depends who owned it," both Sherlock and I said at the same time, then took a drink from our respective mugs.

I chugged the rest of mine in a matter of seconds and put the cup down. "Well, I'll see you boys tomorrow, but for now I'm going to get some shut eye." Standing up I collected my things. "Have a good night you two," I said, giving them a wink. "If you know what I mean." John put his head in his hands as I left. It would be a nice night on the couch I guess...

"John, what did she mean?" Sherlock asked, gazing over the top of his mug intently at the door.

"It's nothing, just let it go." John finished his own coffee. "I'm gonna start writing my blog." He got up and sat in his chair with his laptop, opening it up to type.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder. "Was she implying that we weren't going to have a good night?"

"Drop it."

"She has been saying strange things lately," Sherlock mused. "What with the utter nonsense she spouted at the theatre. OTP, slash, ship, canon. Hmmm. They must have some kind of meaning specific to her. When she mentioned them it was as if she was robbed of any mental stability. Whatever their significance to her, it must be great indeed. I can't imagine being reduced to such a state."

"Sherlock, if you're curious then do a bloody web search or something, and as far as her saying strange things lately, we've only known her for a few days. We know next to nothing about her. For all we do know she could say things like that every week." John sighed. "Just let it go."

"So you think if I research those terms, I could find out their definition?"

"Were you even listening to me?" John looked at him busy on his phone. "Never mind."

"OTP," Sherlock muttered. "One true pairing? What's a pairing?" He scrolled through the results. "Related terms, shipping. Could that be what she meant?" His head moved in closer to the screen. "John, did you know that slash is a fan-term used to denote a story or piece of art containing homosexual relationships between two fictional characters?"

"Am I actually going to have this conversation with you-" He looked behind him to find Sherlock gone, and the door open. "Why do I even bother?" He grumbled.

I had just curled up on my sofa when there was a knock on my door. "What do you want Sherlock?"

"How did you know it was me?" He asked, coming in without invitation or permission.

"Yeah, because there's someone else in this flat as rude as you who'd come knocking on my door this late." I sat up and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Well? Something I can do for you, maybe a get you a piece of cheese to go with that whine?"

"What wine?"

"Never mind," I said with a sigh. "So what's up?"

"Earlier you used several terms," he said. "I've looked up their definitions and I think you may have come to a incorrect conclusion about the nature of my relationship with John." My eyes widened in fear for what I was sure was going to be an awkward conversation. "We are not, to put it simply, in a sexual relationship by any stretch of the imagination." I avoided looking at him because I knew if I did I might start laughing. "I cannot speak for John, but I know that I have never desired to have sexual relations with him." I put my hands over my mouth to stop him from seeing the smile on my face. "It's not that I find the idea of sexual interaction with him repugnant, but it is simply not what I seek out of our friendship."

"Sherlock, if you say the word sexual one more time I swear..." I nearly started laughing then, not capable to handle him saying such things in my presence. "Why do you even care that I know? It's none of my business, and I certainly don't see your rational behind why I have to know."

"Well, I don't want you getting the wrong impression." He seemed slightly offended.

"And why do you care that I have the right one?" He was being ridiculous.

"That's not the point. The point is that I am not having sexual intercourse with John."

I lost it. Why was Sherlock Holmes in my flat and talking about sex with me of all people? Why did he care? What was this? I didn't even know anymore. All I knew was that this was hilarious, and he was an idiot.

"Okay Sherlock. I believe you." I stood up, still laughing. "But it's late and I'm slap happy. Don't worry. No more misunderstandings." I gently turned him around and pushed him out. "Good night Sherlock." And with that I shoved him out. "See you tomorrow."

* * *

HERE'S YOUR CHAPTER. Longer then usual, but here. This episode is almost done! (Thank God) Soon the real fun begins. Moriarty! (cackles maniacally) Oh the things I have planned. It's devious! Diabolical! Wicked! Other synonyms for underhanded and sneaky! You guys will DESPISE me. Muahahahahaha. This is gonna be fun!

In the meantime, check out my profile where you can find links to my Facebook, tumblr, and YouTube. If you want this story faster, then review! Especially since it's hard to motivate myself when I work every weekday from 7 AM to 9 PM, I need teh reviews to do that for me. I'm amazed I even have time to write.

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	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"You don't want to come?" He asked indignantly.

"No Sherlock," I said exasperatedly. It was the following morning and I was sitting on my sofa with a red pen and the day's newspaper, circling job openings. "If you haven't deducted already, I need a job." My stomach growled audibly. "Can't keep freeloading off the two of you for the rest of eternity can I? Need to get a proper job. Something stable, easy, pays reasonably."

"Something dull," Sherlock muttered.

"Yeah, that's what I said. Stable, easy, with good pay. Dull kinda comes with the territory." I circled a few offers. "Unless you can make me a more tempting offer, this is what I'll be resigned to." I mock sighed and put the back of my hand to my forehead dramatically. "How will I go on living without your conceit and arrogance in my face at every hour of the day? And for that matter, how will you live on without my glittering personality to smack your pride in the face? Oh the horror! The pure, unmitigated, horror!" I dropped my hand to see him rolling his eyes. "Now go on, let the secretary know what utter fortune she has decorating that pretty little head of hers." My hands shooed him away.

Of course he didn't budge. Asshole.

"I could invoke my right, as per our agreement, to have you accompany us on this trip," he said.

"Sorry Sherlock," John said, poking his head in my flat. "Helen already cleared it with me, and frankly I agree that a proper job is necessary. Even if she did make fun of me for getting one." When Sherlock glared at him, he put up his hands in defense. "I believe the saying is the early bird gets the worm."

"Preposterous," he replied. "The punctuality of the avian species has no bearing on its ability to catch itself a lunch." I raised my eyebrow at him. "In fact it would be far easier to capture a worm after heavy rainfall, when the soil is moist and soft. Time of day is irrelevant."

"Yeah, but saying that the bird who digs for food right after a significant down pour gets the worm doesn't exactly have the same ring to it, does it?" John patted his friend on the back. "Come on, let's go. We have to pick up that check that Sebastian said he'd give us."

Sherlock stood next to me and held out his hand, waiting. I looked at it. He looked at me. I looked at him. He raised his eyebrows. I raised mine. John coughed pointedly.

"Well?" Sherlock asked.

"Well," I replied.

"Come on, hand it over," Sherlock told me.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific Mr. Holmes. If you were unaware, I in fact do not have access to your innermost thoughts and can not therefore interpret each of your vague statements as they apply to me." This was more then just being snarky. I truly didn't know what the hell he was after.

"My cheque," he said. "The one from a few days ago that Sebastian gave me to consult on the break in. You have it. I would like it back if you don't mind." He wiggled the tips of his fingers ever so slightly.

"My apologies, dedouchebag." I reached into my pocket and pulled it out. It was all crumpled and weird. "Here's your damned cheque."

"That's a new insult," John commented. "Dedouchebag. Rolls right off the tongue."

"Like it?" I said excited. "It's a combination of deduce and douchebag. I thought it was quite fitting."

"No, no, I like it," John insisted. "I might borrow it for myself if you don't mind.

Suddenly a piece of paper was thrust into my face. "Here."

I looked at Sherlock, unimpressed. "What's this?"

"While the two of you were talking your useless prattle, I used my phone to take a picture of the cheque and cash it," he explained. "Then I retrieved my own cheque book and wrote down that same figure, and wrote it in your name. See?" He waved it impatiently, and I grabbed at it in disbelief. "Now you have money. You no longer have need of a job. So, come on." He motioned his arms towards the exit. "Let's go."

I flicked the edges of the cheque. "You know, I think I'll just pocket this and keep looking for work. Thanks for the free money though."

"If you aren't going to use it then give it back!" Sherlock made an attempt at getting it but I used my foot to hold him back. Imagine a taller kid stopping a shorter kid by placing his hand on the other's head, thus preventing him from coming closer. Well, that was kinda what we were doing, except it was more like my foot on his chest.

"Eh now, no need to get physical." I smirked as he narrowed his eyes at me. "If you want it, you'll just have to reach it." What happened next I will never forget for as long as I live. As he moved once more to retrieve the cheque, I stuffed it into my bra, and we fell back upon the sofa simultaneously. "Well, isn't this a compromising position you've put yourself in."

Let me make something clear: Sherlock does not blush, he does not stutter, and he does not feel embarrassment. Sherlock simply stays silent. It was a particularly awkward place we were in. In an effort to further myself from him I had leaned back into the cushions of the couch, and he was on his hands and knees on top of me. I giggled. His curls fell messily in front of his eyes, and his gaze never left my face. I expected him to draw back, but he remained exactly where he was. Suddenly I began squirming and fidgeting, feeling my own face grow warm from... something.

I cleared my throat, not even sure what John was thinking at this point. I'm sure he was plenty embarrassed for me. Still, there was no way I was giving up.

"RAPE," I yelled. He flinched. Good. That's precisely what I wanted. "DEAR GOD SOMEONE HELP ME I'M BEING RAPED. SHERLOCK HOLMES, PUT THAT THING AWAY. I DON'T WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU." He drew back slightly, but not all the way.

"Alright, that's enough," John said, and pulled the startled Sherlock off of me. "You," he said pointing at me. I sat up and looked innocent. He started to say something, but couldn't find the right words. "I-I'll get to you later. And you," he began, turning his finger on Sherlock. "Dear God, you know what never mind." He dropped his hand. "Let's just get going."

"Fantasticidealet'sgo," Sherlock said, his words running together, probably from shock. The two turned to leave my flat.

"Now wait a minute," I called to them. John looked back at me, but Sherlock kept his front side turned away. Coward. I must use this to my advantage. "I changed my mind. I wanna go too!" I picked up my jacket. "Come on boys." I saw Sherlock turn his head imperceptibly towards John, and gave him what looked like a very scary look. John looked at me pleadingly, and I smiled. This was the perfect chance to make the great Sherlock Holmes feel self-conscience. I was not going to pass this up.

"If she wants to come and she will not be swayed, then so be it." Sherlock flipped his coat collar up. "Let's carry on. I don't want to be late."

It was an uncomfortable cab ride down to the bank. John insisted upon being in the middle, giving some half-assed excuse as to why he needed to be there. It was obvious why. As sure as I was giddy with anticipation, so was Sherlock possessed by disdain. Not a word was spoken the entire time.

When we arrived, Sherlock immediately split off to inform the secrecy about the pin. I started to follow him until John pulled me back, giving me a warning look.

"Aww, come on. Pretty please? I just want to watch him sulk a bit more is all."

John was not amused. "No, he's my friend and I can see that he needs some space. So don't." He was dead serious, and I paused.

"Okay," I replied. He let go, and the both of us relaxed.

"Though I must admit, that was a damn good technique you pulled back there." We glanced at each other for minute. I grinned and he laughed. "What I wouldn't have given to see his face right at that moment."

"It was pretty priceless," I said, chuckling. "I bet that's the last thing he thought would ever come out of my mouth." We made our way to Sebastian's office to collect the other half of the cheque. I let John do the talking as personally I thought the man was still pretty creepy.

We were about to leave when he stopped me. "A word?"

I looked back at John, thoroughly not amused. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a wave, closing the door on his way out. I mentally cursed him as I turned back to Sebastian and forced a halfway decent grin on my face. "Something you needed?"

"As a matter of fact, there is." He looked me up and down and, I kid you not, licked his lips. He mother fucking licked his lips. I can't even- NOPE. "As I'm sure you know, Sherlock is a near universally despised person because he's an arrogant bastard. So I can't help but wonder how he has someone as lovely as you in his company." I didn't like where this was going. He reached his hand and wrapped it around my waist. "How much is he paying you? Whatever it is, I'll double it."

I nearly gagged. After composing myself, I put on my best act and gestured for him to lean in using my finger. He obliged, looking exited. I whispered, in my absolute best sexy voice, "Go fuck yourself." I drew back and kneed him in the groin. He bent over in pain and cried out. "Have a nice day you great big man whore." I opened his door and found John waiting for me, looking perplexed. He peered inside and gave me a quizzical look.

"Do I want to know what happened?" He asked.

"He behaved in a less then gentlemen like manner," I said simply. "First he insulted Sherlock, second he touched me without invitation, and lastly he implied that I was a prostitute." I rolled up my sleeves. "I find it entirely insupportable for people other then myself and you to insult Sherlock. I also heavily dislike being touched by people I don't know. And as far as being a prostitute, well," I said, raising my eyebrows. "Even if I was, he couldn't pay me enough to do him."

"Well said," said a voice from around the corner. I snorted as Sherlock rounded it, looking back to his usual self. I smiled.

"Isn't there a movie about a prostitute falling in love with a client?" John put in.

"Indeed there is," I said. "But that's a fairy tale. I've never been one for fairy tales. Maybe as a kid, but now?" I shook my head. "Seems childish. I don't see any real use for them. I've known adults who still had their head in the clouds, and believe me it was not a pretty sight. What about you Sherlock?" I asked him playfully. "What do you think of fairy tales?"

"I've always found them irritating personally. Even as a child I could not fathom their weak characters and story lines." He turned on his heel, looking back over his shoulder. "The case is over now. I suppose I'll have to find something to relieve my boredom." For a moment he paused, then turned back to John and I. He walked over to me and stuck out his hand.

Which, stupidly, I accepted, not sure why he wanted to shake in the first place. That should have been my first clue. Once again I heard a faint clicking. My eyes darkened. His brightened. He didn't dare...

"Oh but I did dare," he said in his low voice. Screw him and his mind reading skills! I was nearly beyond words.

John put his head in his hands. "Sherlock, why'd you have to bring out the handcuffs again?"

* * *

Aaaaaaaand scene. So against my better judgement I am uploading this now instead of before I receive my desired number of sacrifices- I mean reviews, because I truly do love each and every one of you.

So review damn it! Hahaha, but no seriously review. Please? Life is crazy and I work long hours, and the fact that I find time to write at all is a miracle unto itself. And because of my greed, I will not be updating until I reach 200 reviews. Steep I know. Call me names and unfair, i play by my own rules. You can do it. Don't fail me now. I will hold this story hostage. I am convinced that I am a female version of Stephen Moffat, so don't underestimate me.

The Great Game... Muahahahahaha.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Damn you guys are fast. I LOVE YOU! Warning, little bit vulgar in this chapter. Reader discretion is advised (not that any of you young readers care because I probably wouldn't if I was your age, but now nobody can fault me for not putting a caveat in).

* * *

Chapter 20

He was doing it to annoy me. He had succeeded. That annoyed me even more. And he knew that too. In fact, he went out of his way to keep me in those goddamn pieces of metal for as long as he deemed necessary. It was especially bad when John went gone to work, because then there was nobody to talk to besides him. Thankfully John returned, looking smitten. Guess I didn't cockblock his relationship with Sarah after all. It had almost been three whole days already, I hadn't been able to sleep in my own flat and was forced to share a bed with him (platonically of course), and I was about to strangle Sherlock's neck from the irritation his proximity warranted. I think he knew this too.

"Although you may desire me dead, dear Helen, I am afraid there is nothing I can do to alleviate your stress." Sherlock was reading the day's paper. "You must invest in alternative methods I'm afraid. If you want I can give you a couple of recommendations. Taking up nicotine patches could prove effective. Also admitting that a job is pointless might allay the considerable strain I'm sure is weighing on your mind at present."

"Although you may desire me explained, dear Sherlock, I am afraid there is nothing I can do to alleviate your curiosity." I tugged fruitlessly on the cuffs, hoping to annoy him. "You must spend your energy elsewhere I'm afraid. I have some suggestions if you like. Ingratiating yourself to me could help me open up more naturally. Oh, and admitting that you're the world's greatest prat might help your case as well. I never have liked those who deny their own faults."

"Denial is one thing, acknowledgment is another," he countered. "People are surprisingly aware of their faults. It is there inability to make others aware that makes them human. Our would you deny people the right to be privately shamed rather then publicly?" I grumbled out nothing particularly intelligible back at him. "What was that? Is that the sound of your logic failing?"

John was quietly typing away on his laptop, attempting to stay out of it.

"Are you writing up the case?" I asked him. He nodded. "Can you pretty please not mention me?"

"Why should he do that? It is a blog about his life so he should be able to put whatever happens to him in it." Sherlock flipped a page of the newspaper.

"Maybe he'll do it because I asked nicely. Maybe he'll do it just to annoy you. Maybe he'll do it because you don't know that the earth revolves around the sun." Sherlock and I stared at each other for a moment while John watched.

"That's preposterous!" John said. "Of course Sherlock knows that the earth revolves around the sun. How could he not? Isn't that right Sherlock? Sherlock?" He looked at his friend in disbelief. Sherlock said nothing. "Are you serious? How could you not know that?"

Suddenly Sherlock stood up. Which, by proxy, meant that I also stood up. I really hate handcuffs. "Come on Helen. I've got some experiments I wish to perform at St. Barts." He dragged me along with him, and I waved a quick goodbye to John. "See you later."

"Come on Sherlock, it's nearly sundown!" I complained. He hailed a cab, not listening. "Really? Can't you let me stay behind and sleep or something? I don't even know why you have me in these to begin with. If I didn't know any better I'd say you handcuffed us together simply because you want to be near me."

"Don't be ridiculous," he answered quickly. "I have you duly attached to me because I am hoping you will reveal more of the mystery surrounding you by an accidental slip of the tongue." I rolled my eyes as we rode along to the morgue. "And I also suspect that the more time you spend near me, willing or not, it will decrease your ability to handle a dull life, so you never consider obtaining a real job."

"And why do you care?" I asked, irritated. He didn't answer. "Whatever. So what experiments are we doing there then? If it's dangerous you should watch your back otherwise I'm going to pour acid all over your hair so it burns and shit."

"We're measuring the coagulation of saliva," he replied. "Chances to deface me will be limited."

"Right," I muttered. We finally arrived and headed straight to the morgue. "You know you could be nicer and maybe a tad more sociable of we're going to be linked like this."

"Why?" He asked with genuine ignorance.

"Oh you know, the usual." I sighed dramatically. "It's awfully lonely being the only one willing to talk in this relationship. I just feel neglected that's all. Sometimes it's like I'm talking to a wall, but then you speak and it's actually a condescending otter with a bad attitude." We walked through a pair of doors, with me still speaking. "Honestly Sherlock, do you care about us at all?"

Sherlock coughed and nudged me, none to gently, in the ribs. I elbowed him back even harder, but looked forward to see Molly Hooper with a look of shock on her face.

"Oh hello!" I said, rushing forward. Sherlock tagged along unwillingly. I stuck out my hand. "It is my pleasure!" She took my hand cautiously and I shook it vigorously. "I've heard so much about you from Sherlock. Molly Hooper, am I right, or am I right?" I beamed out a big huge cheesy grin. "An honour, an absolute honour." I let go, completely giddy.

"Hello," she said nervously. "Um, so this is..." Molly trailed off, looking at the handcuffs.

"Let me introduce you," Sherlock said. "Molly, this is my assistant Helen. Helen, as you seem to miraculously already know for some reason, this is Molly."

"Eh? Assistant?" I glared at him. "Would you care to rephrase that to something else, like perhaps your- hey!" He had elbowed me again.

"Do you have some cadavers that I can take samples from?" Sherlock said. "Preferably recent deaths, and with a head ideally. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva." He pulled me along and began looking at the body she had out on the table. "Like this one here," he said. Next he pulled me over to a cabinet and started removing equipment. "I'll only be a few seconds." With rapid speed he started to swab the insides of the mouth and placed the data into test tubes. My hand flew wherever he happened to move, and to be honest it was getting annoying. "Thank you, that will be all for now." And just as quickly as we came in we were out.

"Well that was weird," I scolded him as the doors shut behind us. "Why'd you have to be so antisocial? It's not like I was saying anything particularly stupid. Or was my eagerness to chat with Molly and sway her from her frankly ludicrous infatuation with you not part of your grand plan? Which I'm assuming you have one as all evil geniuses do."

He said nothing.

"Whatever," I said.

We made it up to the laboratory where he set up a station for his experiments. He smeared the swabs on the glass slides and then exposed them to different conditions. After that he'd observe them under a microscope. And as usual, my hands was prey to moving about wildly, suddenly, and without my consent. Which I could only stomach so much of before gagging.

"Sherlock," I whispered. "Pssst!" He didn't answer. "Sherlock. Sherlock. Sheeeerrrrrrrloock." I leaned in close to his afro. "Shhhherlock." I could see he struggled to ignore me. I needed work harder then. "Sherlock. Sherrrrr-lock! Sher-sher-sher-Sherlock!" His eyebrow twitched. Getting warmer... "Bendy dick cum on my baps, Shirley!"

"What is it?" He said, not turning away from his microscope.

Victory! "I need to go to the bathroom."

"Then hold it, like your tongue perhaps?" He continued to observe the slides under the lens.

I was not satisfied. I flexed my fingers and looked at the cuffs, and an idea formed inside my devious little head. Suddenly I let my arm grow heavy with weight, no longer holding it up at his expense. In glee I watched as he carried my arm as his own weight, thus causing him to make a severe effort to hold his own up.

"May I go to the bathroom?" I asked once more.

"May you not drag me down with your stupidity, both metaphorically and physically?" He replied.

"Fine then," I said. "Whoops!" I fake fell onto the ground face down, dragging the irritable consulting detective with me. As my body hit the floor he came crashing with me, finding home alongside my torso. "Sorry, guess I nearly fainted from the need to clear my bowels. Darn mother nature, always getting in the way of motor functions."

"FINE!" Sherlock yelled, reaching over to my wrist. He retrieved the key and unlocked me. "Go to the bathroom. You have five minutes or I'll barge in there myself, regardless of whatever you're in the process of doing."

I rubbed the skin around my wrist. "Thank you!" I skipped away gladly. He was being quite a curmudgeon today. Must be the threat of oncoming boredom that was getting him down. It took me a second or two but I found my way into a bathroom and washed my hands, not actually needing to use it at all. I looked up from the mirror to see Molly standing behind me.

"Are you really Sherlock's assistant?" She asked apprehensively.

"Oh god no, I'd never work under the likes of him," I assured her. "He's a right git. Smart, mind you, yet incredibly tactless. But I'm sure you already know that." I dried my hands and turned to her. "He's really not worth my time."

"So you aren't... together?" She fidgeted awkwardly.

Oh my god. This scene right here. This fucking scene. Can we talk about this scene for a minute? I've read this scene in a million stories by otherwise talented authors. For some reason I've never particularly liked how the handled her jealously. It's not that they did a bad job, it just comes off a little forced to me. That's a personal preference, an opinion.

"Fuck no girl, penis is not my thing." I went right for it. No questions. This girl was obviously not having sex with Sherlock Holmes. "In fact, the very idea about doing a dude is just like, ewww, no. In fact my mantra is, and pardon me for it's vulgarity, no boobs, no clit, no service." I smiled at her. "If I was straight I'd probably be all over him, but alas it twas never meant to be." I mock sighed. "In the meantime, I'll just have to settle for being his neighbour."

I could see Molly sighed a very visible sigh of relief. "Oh, okay then." She smiled sweetly, if still a bit nervous. "So, what was with the whole," she stammered, gesturing with her eyes at my wrist. "That whole handcuff thing. Just out of curiosity," she added quickly. "If you don't want to tell me I don't mind."

"Oh, that thing?" I said. "One of his crazy experiments." My shoulders shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I don't understand any of it." She giggled, and I joined in with her. I hoped she didn't feel threatened or anything now. I mean, how could she? She thought I was a lesbian.

Suddenly Sherlock burst in. "You were taking to long," he said to me. "I've collected almost all the necessary data. We're heading back to Baker St in five minutes. I just need to take one last look at a culture. Hello Molly."

"Oh, hi Sherlock!" She said, a bit breathlessly. "Fancy seeing you here in the ladies lavatory."

"I'll be waiting in the lab then," I said, giving Molly a wink as I left. She blushed.

Sherlock went to the sink and washed his hands, completely unabashed at being in the ladies room. "Did she say anything malicious or offensive to you?"

Molly did a double take. "What? No, don't be ridiculous. Our conversation was merely enlightening. That's all."

"Enlightening?" He said.

"Yes, well, it's just nice to see that you have acquaintances from nearly all demographics." She was about to leave when he stopped her.

"What do you mean?" He called.

"Well, I guess I mean that it's nice that you to see you having a friend who's so openly gay." She fiddled with her hair.

Sherlock paused, then looked at her. "Do you mean John?"

"Of course not silly," Molly said with a laugh. "I'm talking about Helen, the girl who just left. We were chatting about this and that, you know how girls are, and she just happened to mention that she was... Sherlock?" The man had brushed past her and left.

I was sitting on a stool swinging around in a circle when my favourite little ass butt walked in. I went to say something, but the look on his face made me stop. It wasn't anger, it wasn't frustration, hell I don't know what the fuck it was. But, for whatever reason, it made me stop talking.

He sat down at his little station and observed a few more things, forgetting perhaps on purpose to use the cuffs again. A few minutes later and he finished, standing up and gathering his coat. He looked at me for a moment, then walked out without saying a word. I followed him, irritated. He was being a jerk. He could at least afford to call me an idiot or something. Our entire journey home was much the same, with neither of us willing to say anything.

When I did manage to get through the door of Baker St, instead of heading down to my own flat I felt a tug on my sleeve from Sherlock, which ended up being less of a tug and more of a drag.

"What?" I said the moment we crossed the threshold into the living room.

"Are you a homosexual?" He asked.

"Excuse me?" I said laughing.

"Are you a homosexual?" He repeated.

"What in the bloody, Cluedo soaked hell, gave you that idea?"

"Molly implied to me that part of your conversion together in the water closet concerned your sexual orientation, and that you heavily suggested that your own predilection for a sexual partner was someone of the same gender as yourself." He walked a few steps closer. "If you are wondering why I am so interested in clarifying this issue, it is because since I am apparently doomed to know as little about you as I do, every piece of information that I come across that does involve you in some form or another, is yet another tool with which to make out your history and character." He came even closer, now only a few centimetres away. "So tell me, did you make such a revelation to Molly?"

Wow, I can't believe I was having this conversation with Sherlock Holmes of all people. Let's frustrate him! "I don't know what you are talking about Sherlock," I said. "I barely remember what I talked about with Molly, because you see, I was simply lost in those magnificent eyes of hers. You think you could get me get number?"

He drew back and paused for a moment, thinking. "You're mocking me."

"No shit Sherlock!" I said, laughing. I've always wanted to say that to him. "If you must know, dear Shirley, I am as straight as our little Johnny boy."

Sherlock paused again. "That doesn't help, Helen."

"Fine, I'm as straight as your brother then."

"Helen..."

"I get it, fine! Do you want me to say it explicitly then?" He looked at me expectantly. "Alright. I, Helen Richardson, have only ever felt sexual attraction to persons of the opposite gender then myself, and have only entered into relationships with such persons in my lifetime thus far. I can safely say that I have never had homosexual tendencies for any female on this earth, and probably never will. Satisfied?" He nodded. "Good. Now where is John?"

"I think he had a date," Sherlock mused.

"Good for him," I said. I made to leave when he put a hand on my shoulder. "What?" Click! "Aww, come on Sherlock!" He had replaced the handcuffs. "Is this really necessary?"

Mrs. Hudson walked in. "Are you two having a bit of a domestic?" She had become accustomed to our weird, our weird... whatever our thing was. John had been out more often because of this, not wanting to explain to Sherlock yet again why he was muttering "get a room." I supposed John had left to Sarah's for the night.

"A domestic is much more entertaining then hateful boredom," Sherlock replied.

"As long as you treat her right," Mrs. Hudson said, leaving.

I looked at Sherlock, and in spite of myself, laughed. He joined in a few seconds later.

And then the windows exploded.

* * *

OMFG OVER 200 REVIEWS! YOU DID IT GUYS! I LOVE YOU ALL SO FUCKING MUCH RIGHT NOW I CAN'T EVEN-

In other news, I finally finished the second episode and can move along to the third one! You know how long I've been waiting for this episode? FOR THE PAST 19 CHAPTERS THAT'S HOW LONG. I already knew exactly what's going to happen right up to the end. And you guys are going to hate me. Because I am Moffat. Now give me your firstborn! Or a review, whichever comes first.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

That night Sherlock let me off the cuffs, saying he needed to think things over. I shrugged my shoulders, ready to relish staying in my own flat for the first time in a few days. Until he forbade my doing that like the righteous git that he is.

"Use my bed," he said, gesturing to his room. "I won't be using it tonight anyway. Oh go on," he insisted, seeing my protests. "If you don't you'll be sleeping on that bloody couch. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you how uncomfortable that thing is compared to an actual mattress." I went to argue but he stopped me. "Don't make a fuss, it's not attractive and you know it."

I went over and smacked him on the back of the head. "Ass." As much as I wanted to stick it to him, I didn't have so much pride as to deny his albeit generous offer. I yawned and waved as I left. "Goodnight Sherlock," I said sleepily. "Have fun deducting." Inside his room I picked about his closet, looking for something to sleep in. Wad up in a corner was his blue silk robe. I picked it up like it was the most valuable thing the world had ever produced. Next I found a simple cotton shirt of his, and pulled off my own clothes, replacing them with the shirt and robe.

It felt awesomely soft, and I had to resist the urge to sqee from that fact. I climbed on the bed and snuggled down into the blankets like a kitten. In seconds I was gone.

Faint words floated into my ears. I swatted at them. How dare they disturb me whilst I was sleeping? My eyes opened slowly, and I had to wipe away the sand from them. Little bits of light filtered through the window, and I winced as the rays hit my face and the buzzing of people in the other room continued. Damn mornings. It's all the earth's fault, rotating willy nilly like that. Stretching, I got to my feet, then finally realised what I was hearing. Sherlock was up. And he had a visitor. This would be fun.

I opened the door as quietly as possible, tiptoeing as I went. I peered around the corner and saw them sitting across from each other, Mycroft with his back to me. Sherlock spotted me peeking, and made the slightest of slightest shakes to his head, telling me to retreat.

"What's that Sherlock?" Mycroft looked behind himself, to see nothing. I had jumped back when I saw him turn. There was no way that Mycroft wouldn't have taken notice of Sherlock being so blitheringly obvious. "Seeing shadows again?"

Silently I moved closer to his chair, Sherlock trying not to look my way. He obviously didn't want to draw attraction to me again. I'm pretty sure he was thoroughly done with whatever scheme I had yet to even put in place.

"I'm hardly what you would call a shadow," I said. He turned around fully this time, seeing me standing just a few feet away. I waved to him as Sherlock rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Hello."

"Hello," he replied. "Well well well, Sherlock. Who might this, young lady be?" He eyed my borrowed ensemble, which still consisted of a white shirt, a blue robe, and my just my undies. "And such a scantily clad young lady too. Would you do me the honour of introducing is dear brother?" He got to his feet and stretched out a hand.

"This is Helen Richardson. Helen, this is-"

"Mycroft Holmes," I interrupted. I reached out to shake his hand. "It's a pleasure."

"I'm sorry," Mycroft said, tilting his head to the side. "I don't think we've met before, and yet you address me before we are even introduced. I didn't think my brother would actually deign to talk about me in front of others."

"I didn't," Sherlock said, messing with his violin bow. "In fact, she has mentioned you far before I have ever had the occasion to. I was actually under the impression that she knew you before me, Mycroft."

"Quite the contrary," Mycroft replied, still gripping my hand and looking into my eyes. "In fact I've never once in my life set my eyes upon her. How interesting. And how did you two meet?"

"She just happened to," Sherlock paused and gave me a wry smile, "stop by one day."

"I see," Mycroft said, finally releasing my hand. "Miss Richardson was it? I know this is all very untoward, but would you mind if I could have a private word with you?"

"You're right, it is very untoward. Especially as, since you pointed out, I am neither in possession of skirt nor trouser. You must understand that I cannot possibly be expected to speak alone with anyone whom I am not acquainted intimately with under such scandalous circumstances. I'm afraid I must decline." I waved goodbye to Sherlock. "Try not to be such a total dick near your brother. He's only here because he's concerned." I turned to Mycroft. "Good luck with the Korean elections! Try to stick to your diet." I gave him a wink and then left for my own flat. Hopefully I could rustle up some clothes...

"Who is she?" Mycroft said, forcing a smile on his face.

Sherlock plucked his violin. "My neighbour. Wasn't it obvious?"

"Don't toy with me Sherlock. Who is she?"

"Nobody of consequence," he replied.

"Do you expect me to believe that?" Mycroft said. "She emerges from your room, half dressed, in _your_ clothing of all things, knows who I am though you claim to have never spoken of me, seemingly knows that I am currently working on foreign matters, and has apparently successfully permeated your particular brand of pretension and arrogance. Yet you say she is nobody of consequence? Come now dear brother, don't be ridiculous. Can you blame me for being curious as to whom has captured your affection?"

"Affection is a strong word," Sherlock countered. "I would prefer, say, something along the lines of confusion and intrigue. And while we're on the subject of her, let's not forget she also inexplicably knew you were on a diet. How is that going by the way?"

"Fine," Mycroft sneered. "No matter. I shall find out who she is on my own."

"Good luck with that," he answered, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.

Back in my flat I had managed to scavenge an outfit that looked at least halfway decent. My hair however, was messy and a touch greasy. Ewww. I needed a shower, and stat. Over in the corner I spied Sherlock's clothes that I had used, and picked them up. It was probably a good idea to return them.

I made my way upstairs and saw John standing there, looking confused.

"Besides," Mycroft said, putting on a face. "A case like this requires legwork."

Sherlock ignored his brother. "How's Sarah John? How was the lie low?"

Mycroft was about to speak when I interrupted him. " Are you becoming, dare I say, rusty Sherlock? It was obviously the sofa." I handed John the clothes.

Sherlock looked at him appraisingly. "Oh, yes of course."

John looked at the both of us, confused. "How- oh never mind."

"Well, it's time for me to get going. Mycroft, good luck on getting the Bruce-Partington plans back," I said. "Bye." I waved to the boys as I left, noticing how Mycroft seemed less then pleased by my return and subsequent knowledge of the missile plans.

When I got to my flat I considered taking a sink shower, but grabbed a hat instead. I had only just begun looking through the paper when I heard a knock at my door. "No Sherlock, I don't fancy going with you down to Scotland Yard." I heard the door open and sighed. "Really? Coming inside without my permission again? I guess it's alright as long as you don't force me to wear those handcuffs again."

"Handcuffs?" I whipped around to see Mycroft and his twisted smirk. "Good lord, tell me he's at least using them for good measure." He looked me up and down. "Because it doesn't look like it from where I'm standing."

"That's more then a little offensive, thanks." I crossed my arms. "But I guess that comes with the territory of being a Holmes."

He laughed. "May I sit down?"

"That implies that you'll be staying for more then five minutes," I said. "Since that is something I do not desire, I must decline to allow you respite on my sofa. This suspension of good will also extends to tea and the like."

"Have I done something wrong, Mrs. Richardson?" He asked me.

"Other then treating me as if _I_ have done something wrong, no. But then again, you did come into my flat uninvited. That's not very gentlemanly, now is it? And it's not Mrs, it's Miss. Now unless you have any further business with me, I must ask you to return to your duties doing whatever it is you do for the British government." I gestured him out, but he did not move.

"On the contrary, I do have business with you," he said.

"Then please, do get to the point," I offered.

His smile dropped. "How long have you know my brother?"

"A few days. Why?"

He fiddled with the cane on his umbrella. "It seems you've grown rather close, what with you cavorting about in his clothes and sleeping in his room. And then the aforementioned handcuffs. I doubt I need to expound upon those."

"Can you skip to the part where I'm supposed to give a shit?" He was being redundant as hell.

His brow furrowed. "What do you want from my brother?"

"You could not be more misinformed," I said. "You should be asking Sherlock what he wants from me, which to be honest I'm not really sure of half the time. Sometimes he says he wants to know as much about me as possible and then cut me loose. Other times he says he wants me to stick around to solve cases and whatnot. All I want is some peace and quiet."

"Don't patronise me," Mycroft said. "When you were upstairs you couldn't wait to bicker with Sherlock. Down here, you're forcing yourself to look for a normal job. Just look how unenthused you are about the prospect. You even made yourself an excuse to return the clothes so you could avoid the task. But yet, as I stand here, you are alert and focused. Are those generally the traits of someone who wants peace and quiet? So, I ask again." He moved closer. "What do you want from Sherlock?"

"Mycroft, I assure you I have no ulterior motives." I shrugged my shoulders. "Do some research. Maybe you'll feel better about it. I know you worry about him. That's why you're here, isn't it?" A smile slipped out. "Let's be honest. You came over because you were concerned, and gave him this case because you knew it'd be safe. You have tons of people at your disposal. Did you really have to ask Sherlock to solve it?" My eyebrows raised. "Am I right, or am I right?"

Mycroft tilted his head to the side in amusement. "Who are you?"

"Me? Oh, I'm just a woman who happened to be at home one day while watching the television, and was then miraculously transported into her favourite programme and is now living out what she thinks is a fun little dream." I tilted my head, mocking him. "I've got nothing to lose, and everything to spoil. Like your upcoming root canal. I hope it goes well." I smiled innocently as his expression hardened.

"I've a proposal for you," he said.

"Do tell."

"If you would be willing to keep me updated on Sherlock's activities, I wouldn't mind compensating you for a modest sum. This would be beneficial to both of us, as then I would be free from my concern, and you would not have to force yourself to a mundane lifestyle." Mycroft smiled. "I believe they call it a 'win win', if I'm not mistaken."

"Hmm," I mused. If I accepted, then I could just play along with the story and not have to miss any of the good stuff. "How would I be contacting you? I have no phone you see. Actually I have nothing. No bank accounts, no public record..."

"I would be able to arrange something to best suit the particulars of this situation," he explained.

"And the fee?" I asked.

"More then substantial, I assure you," he said.

I stuck out a hand. "Deal?"

He grabbed it and shook. "Deal."

"No offense, but I kinda feel like I just sold my soul to the devil." I smiled, maybe just a tad nervous.

He laughed. "Don't be ludicrous. You're only lending it."

* * *

See? More reviews= faster updates! One of you asked about my inspiration, and my immediate reaction was hahaHahaHAHA inspiration? What do you mean inspiration? I open up a vein and bleed, that's how I write this stuff. So when I write, I'm literally draining myself of life. Reviews help sustain me. So review. Or wait. (In a whisper) The choice is up to you.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: This chapter... I don't even know guys.

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Chapter 22

I forced out an awkward laugh to let him know how unfunny I thought he was being. "Well, would you mind going now?" I looked around my dilapidated flat. "As you can see, it's quite gross down here and I'm highly embarrassed by that fact. I wouldn't want to stain your umbrella or something equally disastrous."

He looked around too, then lifted his umbrella off the floor every so slightly. "Yes, I'm afraid you are right. What did posses you to rent out this abysmal place?"

"Necessity," I replied. I side stepped him and made my way to the exit. "Please do excuse me. I'm going to annoy Sherlock some more. Be sure to close the door on your way out." I thought I heard him chuckle as I left, and it made me smile. At least he didn't think I was a threat. Well, that's what I assumed. I began running up the steps when I saw Sherlock about to come down them.

"Ah, there you are," he said. "We're about to head out. Something has turned up." He looked at me intently.

"Calm down," I said. "Don't give me that look. I'm coming willingly. See?" I made my way up. "No need for drastic measures."

"I'm afraid you don't get to make that decision," he said, pulling out the cuffs from inside a chest pocket.

I stopped in my tracks and groaned. "Honestly Sherlock, are those really that necessary?"

"Yes Sherlock," a voice said from behind me. "Are they really necessary?" I turned to see Mycroft standing at the bottom of the steps. "Seems a bit excessive on your part."

Sherlock eyed his brother in disdain, then walked a few steps down and took my wrist. "I'm afraid that that's nine of your business, Mycroft." He sneered. "Do tell the queen I give her my deepest regards." He looked himself in, then held both of our arms aloft. "Good day, Mycroft." He turned around and walked, forcing me to follow him.

But I wasn't done being me yet. "Whenever you feel in the mood for another round of hot, quick sex, stop by. My door is always open." I winked at him. "Have a good day Mycroft. I must say you're better then I expected." I'm pretty sure he rolled his eyes, but as Sherlock jerked me forward particularly hard I couldn't make out for certain.

The second we made it into the cab, me squished yet again between John and Sherlock, he began to look at me funny.

"What?" I asked him. "Spit it out."

"Mycroft was in your flat," he said.

"He was also wearing a suit. Any more mundane facts you wish to enlighten me with?"

"Why was he in your flat?" He asked.

"I've already said why," I answered. He looked at me in puzzlement, so I sighed theatrically. "We were having rowdy sex, duh."

Sherlock put his hand on his forehead. "Of dear lord. It was enough to hear it the first time. If you insist on continuing with these bawdy and frankly libellous statements regarding yourself and my brother I may be forced to resort to drastic measures in search of- What are you staring at?" He watched as I gazed at him, unflinchingly, mouth open. "What? What is it?"

"You said the word bawdy..."

"Now who is the one stating the obvious. Yes, I just used the word bawdy. Is there some prejudice you have against it being used in polite conversation?"

"First of all, bollocks. Our conversations couldn't be considered as civilised, let alone polite. Second, I possess no prejudice against that particular word. Certain other words perhaps, but not that one. It just never occurred to me that I would be in a situation where you would have to classify an interaction I had with your brother as bawdy. I somehow feel as if the meta gods are telling me something, but I'm just not streets ahead enough to understand it. I don't like that feeling. It's as if someone is patting me on the head and saying 'patience is a virtue'. I don't know about you but I say damn virtue, life is short, so let's all eat dessert first."

Sherlock was about to say something, but stopped himself. He tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. "So there are words you have a prejudice against?"

John chimed in for one. "Sherlock, out of that entire little speech she just gave, you fixate on that?"

We both looked at him like he was insane. Which he wasn't, obviously. I was just projecting my crazy onto everyone, and Sherlock was going insane trying to decipher some deeper meaning behind it all. John was the only sane one left. Poor sod.

Sherlock turned back to me. "So, the words you do have a prejudice against would be?"

I turned to him. "I call them no-no words. I don't like them at all. They are moist, panties, enter, and digits." I shuddered. "Disgusting vernacular. Please don't make me repeat myself."

Sherlock considered for a moment. "I understand moist and panties, which I'm assuming comes from their sexual connotation."

"Don't say them out loud," I said. "Actually all four of them have a distinctly naughty connotation of you think about it carefully."

His eyes widened. "Yes, I see now. The last two are a bit less obvious."

"Looks like Manchester United is going to win the Barclays Premier League again," John commented. We both looked at him incredulously. "Sorry, I just thought I change of topic was in order as we are almost at Scotland Yard, and I don't very much want to be heard around the both of you with that kind of conversation you two are having. If you can even call it conversation. Sounds more like the mating calls of dolphins, or something equally weird which I have yet to mock you for."

I laughed and punched John in the arm. "Aww, you do care."

He laughed mechanically. "Just don't talk about weird stuff in front of them. In the flat, go for it, talk all night if that's what it takes, but out here I actually have a bit of a reputation I'd like to uphold. So if you please," he said, opening the cab door me.

"You're so sweet," I said, sliding over his direction. Suddenly I was jerked back by Sherlock, who was attempting to get out from the other side in spite. "No. Don't you dare start this up Shirley. I can go all day." I yanked him towards my side.

"Oh really?" He replied, tugging me back over. "So you think you're the queen of England now?"

"Bitch I might be," I said, pulling on the cuffs. "Are you listening to me Benedict Cumberbatch?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, though I bet it would be fascinating, meeting this Cumberbatch fellow. Do you think we'd get along nicely?" We were at a standstill, both of us at either side of the cab and desperate to win.

"Marvellously," I grunted, arm aching from the effort. "You'd be like twins. Peas in a pod. Moffat and Gatiss. Bonnie and Clyde. Misha Collins and Jack Barrowmen. Hussie and Himaruya. Now I'm just resorting to ships, but whatever."

"I'm afraid I only recognised one of those pairs of names you rattled off," Sherlock said, muscles straining visibly. Not that I was looking at his muscles or anything. "Care to elaborate?"

"Not on your life, Bumblebee Candybatch." I looked around, noting John's disappearance. I could only wonder at the fate of the poor cabbie. "If you want to find out, you'll have to do some more research, Bandaid Chowderpants. It shouldn't be hard for someone as intellectual as you, right Blenderboob Wafflestick? Let's be honest shall we. I mean, you are the Great Cumbino for goodness sake. You should be capable of that much."

"Your attitude isn't helping the situation," Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

"At least I'm trying to get a laugh in, unlike you with your steely demeanour. I've got it!" I said mockingly. "Barbaduke Cuddleston. The most musical canine who ever ordered you to fornicate. Ah, et tu Loki?"

"This is getting ridiculous," Sherlock said.

"Really Sherlock?" I asked sarcastically. "Now you say it's getting ridiculous? I'm pretty sure ridiculous went out the window when you first brought out these accursed pieces of metal. Finally I know how Light im-a-gaY felt. Though I'm pretty sure being chained to his detective was far easier then being chained to the little old Beerbelly Compubitch that you are."

"I could easily start manipulating your name into insulting portmanteaus. Do not underestimate me." His eyes narrowed. "My own vocabulary is quite extensive and could make short work of your quickly scrapped together puns, which I might add aren't even of my own name."

"Come at me bro," I said.

"You are tempting fate, Hellspawn Risendead." He made an extra hard tug and nearly got me.

"Am I, Brandydick Catburgler?" I jerked back, nearly getting him.

"Yes, indeed you are Harpoon Raunchycakes."

"Harpoon Raunchycakes?" I spluttered. "Dear god, I think I've broken you. Nevertheless, this means war Belchburg Crepestains!"

Somewhere up in the offices of Scotland Yard, John was standing by a window with Lestrade, both of them sipping out of cups of coffee. They watched as a cab below them rocked back and forth every so slightly from the childish antics of it's half in, half out of the car occupants. The cabbie had long since abandoned his attempts at getting them to leave, and left them to it.

"So once again, describe this girl to me," Lestrade asked, turning back to John.

John took a breath. "Well, she's like Sherlock but not."

"Yeah, explain to me how that works again," Lestrade said. "I still can't wrap my head around it."

"She knows things about people, but doesn't point it out to be a dick to _you_, she points it out only if she wants to be a dick to Sherlock and show off how much she knows in front of him. Unless of course you're on her bad side temporarily, then she might let something slip. I don't even wanna know what she said to Donovan."

"Yeah, Sally talked about her. Said she was a freak just like Sherlock." He crossed his arms. "The idea of two of him is scary."

"Well, as I said she's like him but not." They glanced back to the cab, noticing the war was still on going. "She has tact, and doesn't mind telling him what for when he gets out of line. But she can get angry, just like anybody. Even had it out with me one time. She apologised later, which was unnecessary, but then again just proves how much more unlike him she is."

"And after all that," Lestrade said, making motions with his hands. John looked at him in confusion. "You know, none of the old," he moved his hips a little.

"Oh god no, this is Sherlock were talking about." John looked at Greg bemused. "No, no. He's just interested in her for the mystery. How does she know what she knows, stuff like that. Her knowledge was a little conspicuous of you ask me. I like her well enough, but I'm still not sure. I'll just wait and see what Sherlock turns up, and then see how it goes."

"From what you've said she sounds fantastic," he said. "Almost tailor made for him."

"Don't say that in front of her, or she'll have you out," John warned. "Nah, it won't happen. It at the very least not any time soon. She's dead set on not liking him that way, and as you know he's dead set on not liking _ anyone_ that way. Not to mention she argues with him constantly, trying to curb his arrogance. Sherlock doesn't like having anything about him curbed, whether it's good for him or not."

"Still, seems a bit of a waste." He looked down at them, seeing they'd finally stopped their bickering. "If I wasn't still married." He looked down at her. "She's, well, she's..." He looked at John, who shrugged his shoulders. "Eh, kinda average. Maybe not."

* * *

Before you ask, I don't know. I DON'T KNOW. It came out of nowhere and I don't wanna speak of it ever again. Unless of course you review. If you do then perhaps I'll consider it.

All the jokes from Cumbino on I came up with. The nicknames before that I found online, and partially inspired this chapter AS IS OBVIOUS. I need sleep. If I get 10 reviews or less for this chapter, I'll update in two weeks. If you want it sooner, then review. 20 gets you one week. 30 gets you four days. Until next time!


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

We walked briskly inside the building, not speaking or even looking at one another. I was in a bad mood. The cuffs were still on, he was being an ass, and I had lost. Well, lost is a strong word. More of I surrendered under false pretences and subsequently I found myself in an awkward position I didn't really want to talk about.

"Sherlock," a man said, greeting my rather smug captor. "Long time no see." They shook hands.

"Yes, it has been a while." Sherlock glanced at me. "I suppose I should introduce you. Helen, this is-"

"Lestrade!" I said, plastering a cheesy smile on my face. "How are you good buddy, ol pal. I've got to say I've been looking forward to meeting you for a while. You're the only normal one in this crazy cast of well dressed men." John at me looked, offended. "Yes, you're crazy too. You live with Sherlock after all." I stuck out my hand, which meant Sherlock did too.

He shook it, staring at the cuffs with interest. "Nice to meet you to. Helen was it?"

"Yes, Helen Richardson." I let go, watching as his eyes traced the path our hands fell. "You can ask. It's okay, I won't get angry."

He chewed the inside of his cheek. "Handcuffs..."

"Lovely, aren't they?" I held my hand up so he could better observe. "Mr. Sherloaf Holmes over there keeps insisting I wear them. Nasty business." I pushed them closer to Lestrade's face. "Just look at the job they've done on my skin! Isn't it awfully cruel. You should arrest him for wrongful imprisonment."

"Wait a minute," Lestrade said. "Those are mine! How the in the bloody hell did you get my cuffs?"

"Now you should arrest him doubly so." I raised my eyebrows at Sherlock. "Tut tut, Sherlock. Stealing doesn't become you whatsoever."

Lestrade looked at the detective. "She's right Sherlock. I've half a mind to smack you on the back of the head too. Come on, take them off." He looked expectantly at him. "Go on, I want them back right now." My now silent friend complied, shooting me a disgruntled look.

I massaged my wrist and beamed. "That's much better. Now where's the thing?"

He looked at me. "The thing? What thing?"

"The thing you called Sherlock down here for. The thingie that was in the flat that blew up across from Baker St. You know, the one you had x-rayed for safety but was unable to find anything dangerous inside but the outside has Sherlock's name on it so you called him down so he could open it. Thing." He looked at me with squinted eyes. "Come on Lestrudel. Let's go see the thing before it runs off into the night."

"Right," he said. "Follow me." We wound our way through the office. "You like the funny cases don't you. The surprising ones."

"Obviously," Sherlock replied.

"You're gonna love this. That explosion," he said.

"Gas leak, yes?" the consulting detective asked. I waved as we passed Sally.

"No," I interrupted. They both ignored me. Well, if they were going to ignore me then I would do my damnest to ignore them in return. Bloody men with their jerk ass ways. Half the time it's not even worth it. Honestly I don't even know why I bothered being snarky.

And just like that we were in a cab heading back to Baker St. Woah, I didn't plan on checking out of the conversation for that long. I should have probably kept a tad closer eye on those sorts of things. Out of the corners of my eyes I saw Sherlock avoiding my gaze. It only took a guess for the reason why. He has received a picture of my flat on the pink phone. Of course it could be coincidence, but I think he was inclined to deduce otherwise. I hummed a bit of Stayin' Alive to keep me calm. It was very possible that Sherlock would use one of his questions in the near future. He could easily tell if I was lying, so I would have to tell the truth. And that didn't sound like a fun prospect. Why couldn't I be mysterious like Irene Adler so he couldn't do that?

We got out of the cab and made our way inside. I was about to lead the way to my flat when he stopped me.

"How did you know we were going to your flat?" He asked, trying to catch me into admitting I knew something. It was a fair question though. I hadn't seen the picture and nobody had talked about my flat specifically up to this point. But I could dodge this one.

"Hey, it is as you said my flat. Maybe I just wanted to go home. But now that you bring it up, why are you going to my flat?" I stared him down. "I don't have to let you in you know. You're not my landlord, because that's Mrs. Hudson's title. I'm pretty sure you only qualify as a neighbour. Although you are a ruddy one at that. Been living there for a few days now and you haven't even given me a homecoming gift. That's very rude of you. Tell you what: to prove how nice I am in comparison to your shoddy demeanour, I will let you in. Don't say I never let you have nothing."

Lestrade chuckled, then after Sherlock glared at him, coughed loudly. John his own smile. I openly smirked. Serve him right. I opened the door and Sherlock brushed right past me, wanting to get in there before I screwed something up.

It was dead silent as we came upon the shoes. My eyes kept flitting to Sherlock, not sure what he made of this. Did he suspect me of planting them here? It was my flat after all. I wouldn't blame him for coming to that conclusion. It was a perfectly sound and reasonable argument til make.

"Shoes," John said. Sherlock moved closer. "He's a bomber, remember." John was so obviously concerned for his safety that it made my heart flutter. Must... control... OTP... feels...

Sherlock bent down to observe them when the pink phone suddenly rang, diffusing the tense atmosphere somewhat. He stood back up and pulled it out. His fingers pressed a button. There was a slight pause, and then... "Hello?"

"H-hello, sexy." It was the woman. Her voice was trembling. My stomach flipped, but not in a good way. I willed myself not to listen to her plight, not listen to her being used as a puppet by Moriarty, not listen to the pain she was in. I didn't like this. It reminded me of Soo Lin Yao. A part of me truly believed that what was happening was happening, that this woman's anguish was real, and my sympathy for her was likewise. It made sense emotionally, but not logically. This was a dream. Dreams should not elicit such complex emotions. The harder I tried to not think about it, the more this issue began to irk me. I must not be trying hard enough.

I looked around and jumped a little. We were at St. Bart's now. I must have been thinking too hard if that happened. Sherlock was at a microscope, while John was presumably elsewhere in the hospital at the moment.

"Good to see you stirring again," Sherlock commented. "I nearly suggested to Molly that she cart you down to her lab and perform an autopsy on you. It seems that won't be necessary." I tried to speak but he cut me off. "Before you ask you've been sitting in that chair for roughly two hours. Despite your presence, I was able to get on testing these shoes without distraction. Most likely due to the silence."

"Silence will fall," I muttered absentmindedly.

"What was that?" He asked, not taking his eyes off his work.

"Nothing," I said with a sigh. John walked in with a cup of coffee. I nodded at him, then returned to my internal stupour. Which didn't last long. A beeping sounded from the desktop Sherlock was running tests on. I hopped out of my seat to take a look. Molly popped in.

"Any luck?" She asked.

"Oh yes," he replied.

"Oh sorry, I didn't..." My eyes turned. I had forgotten. How could I forget? Yet there he was. Standing there. Acting gay. Whether or not he should. So somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have something- totally and utterly wicked and not deserving of having to mentally control myself harder then I ever had in my entire life and oh my god it was Moriarty what the fuck was even happening wipe that smile off your vile face you ledge pusher you. I mean, good. Yeah, that's how the lyrics go.

"Jim, oh, hi!" He looked nervous. The little bitc- "Come in, come in." I was happy to be on the other side of Sherlock, the one furthest from the door. Sherlock had his eyes set towards the exit, no doubt frustrated Molly was inviting someone to interrupt the sanctity of his experimentation. "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes." I nearly giggled as Sherlock purposefully kept his eyes averted. "And uh... sorry."

"John Watson, hi," he said.

"Hi," Moriarty responded. Oh excuse me, I meant "Jim". Ass.

"Oh, and uh this is Helen Richardson." Molly smiled at me kindly. I was glad to see all trace of jealousy out of her eyes. Nice change.

I looked him up and down quickly. "A pleasure to meet you, Jim." I offered my hand. It took every gram of willpower, but I managed to smile in as genuine a way as I could muster. He shook it, and I was glad of my long sleeves as they hid my goose pimples. He truly was terrifying.

"You as well," he said. He looked at Sherlock. "So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. Are you on one of your cases?" He crossed over and passed by me, brushing my clothes as he went past. I repressed a shudder. Have you ever tried repressing a shudder? It's surprisingly hard. Literally your whole body has to tense up in effort because a shudder is a very hard thing to control. It should be a villain in some t.v. show, and the main characters have to fight off the urge to shudder or else an electrical impulse is sent to your brain, and after you get too many of them, well, consider yourself dead. What was I talking about again? Oh, that's right. Shuddering. STAHP BODY WITH THE URGE TO MAKE MY DISGUST MANIFEST.

Sherlock took one look at him and muttered, "gay."

The scene that followed is so uncomfortable that I dare not recount it. Molly finished storming out when I smacked Sherlock on the back of the head. "Maybe you can experiment some tact from these vintage shoes while I go try and undo the damage." As I was leaving Sherlock shouted at me.

"That statement made use of no coherent logic."

"Neither do your social skills," I shouted back. I flung the door open and found her running down the hallway. "Molly!" She turned a corner. "Why do they keep running?" I thought out loud. "It's always like this. People run and when you shout at them, they just keep on running?" I rounded the corner and saw her heading into a room. I went over to it and knocked. "Molly, it's Helen. Can I come in?" No answer. "Molly, as much as I would like to come in and comfort you, I will not do so without your consent."

"Come in," she replied. I opened the door and found her sewing up a corpse. "I'm just finishing up am autopsy and have to sew the skin together. As long as you don't mind, of course."

"You want to vent? I asked.

She slammed down her hands on the table. "He's an unmitigated and incomprehensible ass." I smirked a little. She was not so much hurt as she was angry. "How does anyone just take his insults? I mean, he doesn't think they're insults but they are, and I'm sick and tired of them. Oh god I wish I could just slap him in the face!"

"Then do it," I said.

"W-what?" She was taken aback.

"Slap him. Next time he pisses you off, slap him. That's what I'd do if I were you. No mercy. Go to town on him. I guarantee you'll feel much better afterwards. It's kind of a cleansing action. He goes around thinking he's all high and mighty. And he will continue thinking that way if you let him." I pointed at her. "You need to slap him. I promise you, you'll never feel inferior again."

"Are you sure?" She asked.

"Go for it sweetie." I opened the door. "You won't regret it." I waved a quick bye and then left. That was a good conversation. Maybe she really would slap him... I'd pay good money to see that! I rounded the corner once more when I collided with someone. "Oh my god, I am so sorry, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm f-fine, are you?" I looked at who I ran into and my stomach dropped about fifteen stories. This ass whole. "Jim". Bleh. "You're that girl from before..."

"Guilty," I said with a forced smile. I looked him up and down again. "You know, you really don't look like the type of guy to flash his underwear." Helen. No. Stop this now. Don't do it. Don't do it. Just don't do it.

"Oh really," he said. "What kind of guy do I look like?"

"Eh, I guess you give off more of a," I paused for a second. I willed myself not to say what I was about to say. I also failed. "Westwood kind of guy."

He stopped and stared at me for a moment, his smile gone. I smiled back add innocently as possible. What the fuck did you just do Helen? Did you just out yourself in front of the evil mastermind? Helen, you're a dumbass.

His smile was back. He even laughed. "Whatever gave you that impression?"

Don't be a smartass, don't be a smartass, don't be a smartass...

"I dunno," I said. "Guess you just sorta scream 'I'm the villain, I was behind it all, me me me!' But don't worry, you pull it off very well." I walked past him, then turned back. "Tell Molly I said good luck, will you?" I smiled even wider as he relaxed as little. "Bye!" I turned heel and began dancing down the hall. An evil thought crept into my mind. No, Helen. Bad Helen. I spun around to find him watching me. It was perfect. Perfectly stupid. "Ah ah ah ah, stayin' alive, stayin' alive." I hummed the rest and danced my way backwards, watching his face not change expression the entire time.

What in the bloody hell have I done?

* * *

HERE. HAVE AT IT YOU CRAZY PEOPLE. I LOVE YOU ALL. CAN YOU TELL IT'S LATE FOR ME? I NEED SLEEP. UGH.

In other news, I have fan art! OMG SOMEONE DID FANART! It's done by user InterestingName, and I've made it the cover art for this story. AHHH! If anyone wants to do fan art, you are welcome to it. In case you've noticed, I've omitted any description of Helen from the story. Why? I don't want to have to write it in. Describing my character physically in a story always feels inorganic. So I just avoided it altogether. I think I mentioned she's shorter then Sherlock. That's the extent of description. If you want to draw her, use your imagination.

IMAGINATION! Next update is next Friday. If I don't meet it, you can raise hell. Until then!


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

I opened the door, finding John and Sherlock waiting for me. "Sup, assbut," I said.

Sherlock sneered at me. "I would ask you to refrain from hailing me in such a manner a third time, but I doubt you would comply with what I'm sure you would consider a weak request. Perhaps if I bring to your attention the redundancy of such a statement, you'll be sufficiently horrified to employ its usage once more."

"You know what else is redundant?" I asked, unperturbed. "Your cheekbones."

"I'll take that as a no," Sherlock said, grabbing his coat. "And my cheekbones are not redundant," he told me indignantly as we walked out of the hospital and climbed into a cab. On the ride home he explained about Karl Powers and his death. I kept quiet. I still didn't know what he thought about my involvement. Surely he must have suspected I did something? He knew I knew about Moriarty, and the shoes were in my flat. But yet he hadn't treated me any differently. Was he planning on waiting to catch me unawares about the topic, or...

"Helen, henceforth you are temporarily barred from entering my flat." I looked at him in confusion. "Don't worry, it's a simple matter of I still know virtually nothing about you and at this moment in time it is unwise for myself and John to let you into our flat as we investigate this string of bombings. I'm sure you understand."

I sighed. "Funny enough, I do understand this time Sherlock. Can't say I blame you. If I were in your position, I probably would be doing the same exact thing. Must be nice though, knowing you won't have me butting in with my useless commentary."

"I wouldn't call it useless," Sherlock said. "Superfluous, maybe." He looked at me with that small smile of his.

I punched him. "You're a jerk you know that. An adorable little jerk."

"Did you hear that John?" Sherlock said, turning to his friend. "Helen thinks I'm adorable."

"That is not what I said you heathen," I protested.

"No, I'm pretty sure he's right," John said.

"Don't you go siding with him now." I looked at the two of them, both smirking at my expense. "Okay, I see how it is." We pulled up in front of the flat. "Well, if I'm banned then I might as well get out of your way." I went inside and headed downstairs. "Have fun looking through articles!" I said. "I hope they give you no answers!"

I opened the door to my flat and saw a small note tacked across from the entrance. I walked toward it cautiously. This didn't happen in the show. Anything that deviated too greatly from canon unnerved me, because it meant that I had caused it. Generally speaking, things I caused to change were unintentional. Which meant that they were out of my control, and that my sole advantage of knowing everything before Sherlock was gone. That advantage was everything. Without it, well, I'm guessing my dream would have woken me up because Sherlock would surely have discarded me if I hadn't been so obviously mysterious.

I held the note right in front of my eyes. It held two words:

Tick tock.

This had to be Moriarty. It had him written all over it. It had double meaning, no, triple meaning. Currently it could be referring to the bombs and the countdown of time until they were set off. Or, it could be referring to the countdown of when Sherlock and Moriarty have their first in person meeting. But it could also be referring to the nursery rhyme, and he did seem to have an affinity for that sort of thing. So many meanings, so many warnings, so little time...

"Helen, what are you doing?" John appeared from behind me. In a panic I shoved the piece of paper in my mouth, and turned around, the wad clearly visible in my cheek.

"Nuffin," I managed. It's a lot harder to eat paper then they make it look in movies. It gets all hard and turns into a small ball of gross. Forget chewing. It's almost like a rock the way your saliva condenses the fibers. Really it's more awkward then anything. "Whad are you doin?"

He looked at me in puzzlement. I hoped my weird quirkiness would make up for my unusual behaviour. "I was just looking for you. Sherlock was having me go down to see Mycroft and he suggested that you come with."

"Abfolutely," I said. I tore off bits of the note and began swallowing them one by one. "Shall we go then?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Sure."

We hopped in a cab and rode down to wherever the bloody hell Mycroft works. I wasn't paying much attention when John gave the address. A piece of the damn paper got stuck in between my teeth, and I had a hard time wrangling it out. We got there in no time, and the two of us were directed to his office. There was only one chair, which was awkward. I didn't sit down in it, and John was too much a gentlemen to take it. Bless his soul. We waited around for a few minutes until he finally came in.

"John, how nice. I was hoping you wouldn't be long." He had his head buried in some report or another.

"No greeting for me?" I asked innocently. "How ostensibly rude Mycroft." He turned around to see me standing next to John.

He grimaced. "I was not aware that you would be coming along. Forgive me, Helen." He noticed the lack of an extra seat. "Feel free to take my chair," he told me, pointing to the one behind his desk. "I can stand for the time being."

I smiled back at him. "Why thank you Mycroft. That's incredibly kind." I walked around to the other side of his desk.

"Yes, you can move it..." He trailed off, taking note of how I simply sat at his chair rather then moving it next to the one in front. The look on John's face was priceless. He kept trying to hide his laughter. It wasn't working out well.

"Problem?" I asked, propping my feet up on his desk.

He didn't reply.

"Yes, well, I was wanting to ... um, your brother sent me, that is, us," John started, trying to break the tension, "to collect more facts about the stolen plans, the missile plans."

My mind began to wander. Mycroft seemed less then pleased by my appearance, but that was to be expected. I was, after all, not exactly the easiest person to get along with. Must have been my penchant for teasing people on an almost constant basis. That's the thing about cynicism. You rarely make friends unless the other person is a cynic as well. Then again, if you are a cynic, you don't exactly care what others think of you.

I shook my head and returned back to the present.

"And he's completely focused on it," John said, lying through his teeth like the loyal friend that he was.

Mycroft smiled. "Is there anything else I can provide for you?"

John looked at me, and I shrugged. "No, I think we have everything." He stood up. "Thanks for meeting with us." I stood to. "See you later, Mycroft." I followed him out the door.

"Wait just a moment," Mycroft said. The both of us turned back. "If I could speak to Helen for a minute please. Alone." John looked at me for the okay, and I nodded, coming back in and closing the door behind me.

"I feel like I'm about to be scolded by the headmaster," I joked. He didn't laugh. He just stared at me. "Are you gonna say something, or were you intending to act like a nervous teenager unable to talk to his crush?"

"Your analogy is faulty, Ms. Richardson," he commented.

"How so?" I asked.

"You implied that I retained an air of silence because I liked you," he said. "When in fact, although I don't dislike you, I cannot bring myself to think of you in a positive manner."

"Wow, you really know how to woo a girl." I said sarcastically. "Nothing gets my heart beating faster then being told I can't be thought of positively. Please, whisper more sweet nothings in my ear Mycroft. I promise you I won't punch you in the face if you do."

He frowned. "You trouble me, Ms. Richardson."

"Careful now," I warned him. "That's dirty talk right there. Unless you want a smack on the bottom for being naughty, you shouldn't say things like that."

"Are you capable of taking anything seriously?" He said, just a touch of anger showing.

"Are you capable of saying what the bloody hell it is you want in less then ten words?" I countered.

His face grew more displeased. "How is my brother doing?"

"He couldn't give two shits about your case," I informed him. "But you already knew that, didn't you?" I smiled as he shifted position. "John really is a terrible liar. Don't worry though, he does intend to solve it, eventually. There's just some other stuff on his plate now. Is that all, or do you have something else you'd like to say?"

He rubbed his chin, pain obvious. "So he will solve it?"

"Course he will. It is a puzzle, even if it came from you."

"Well that's less then encouraging, but I suppose I'll have to take it." He went round to the other side of his desk and opened up a drawer. "I have something for you."

"A gift? For me? Awww, Mycroft you shouldn't have!"

He smiled painfully. "It's actually two somethings. Here." He handed me a normal looking credit card and a phone. "This phone has my number and Sherlock's already programmed in. You have unlimited texting and minutes, so you have no excuse for not keeping me updated." He pointed to the card. "Now this, is much more important."

I looked at it. "Uh, it doesn't look important." It really didn't.

"Of course it doesn't look it," Mycroft explained. "However, looks can be deceiving. This card is government issue, only used for, less then public reasons." He looked at me with narrowed eyes. "The lack of documentation and records concerning you made this necessary, albeit a bit drastic." I smirked. "It has a balance of five thousand pounds already loaded. This amount will continue to be added monthly, and should cover all expenses."

"That's pretty sweet," I said, holding it up to the light. "And I can buy anything?"

"Within reason," he said. "For obvious reasons I have made it impossible to buy tickets that allow you to leave the country, not that you would anyway due to your lack of a passport. It is also impossible to overdraft the amount you possess. You can withdraw cash, but no more then five hundred pounds at a time. If you attempt to do any of these things, I will know." He smiled at me devilishly.

"It can do all that, but it can't look cool?" I complained.

"What were you expecting?" He asked.

"I dunno, something sleek and shiny. Possibly black or silver. This is kinda pedestrian don't you think?"

"Ms. Richardson, this is not a James Bond film. If it is too dull, I can always take it away so you can get a real job instead." He held out his hand expectantly.

"Like hell I'm giving this up," I said, pocketing both it and the phone. "Well, if that's everything then I'm off." I turned to leave.

"Wait," he said.

"What now?" I turned back to him.

"Don't get emotionally close to Sherlock," Mycroft said. "Falling in love with him will do you no good. It will be disappointing at best, and heartbreaking at worst."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Fuck you too," I said, then opened the door and walked away.

* * *

I said I'd update next Friday, today is next Friday, and Star Trek Into Darkness was fucking epic. I could not stop staring at the cumberbooty. In other news, I'm watching Hannibal.

Update next Wednesday! Sooner if I get more reviews. I love you all you make me so happy!


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

John was waiting for me, and quickly caught on to fury and was mercifully silent. I began walking as fast as I could out of the building, not wanting to spend another minute, not another second in the air of his presence. Who was Mycroft to presume the compass of my heart? And to do so in such a candid manner, as if my feelings didn't even count for a moment. Oooh, it was like, it was like, it was like... It was like Sherlock.

We got outside right at that moment and I slammed the door behind me.

"Damn it!" I shouted. "You know what, screw him. Screw him and his umbrella all the way to Columbia for all I care. He needs a makeover John," I told him heatedly. "Those suits of his don't scream douche bag enough, and everyone needs as much warning as they can get with his attitude. Perhaps we could call Connie Prince, get him on the show. Oh god damn shit I'm angry. God damn shit. I could strangle him in a heartbeat oh yes I would." I turned on heel and looked at John. "You. In the cab." I shoved him inside. "I'm going in a different one to spend lots of money. Oh yes sir, lots of money to spend." I climbed in my own taxi, laughing hysterically.

"Where to miss?" The driver asked.

"Nearest shopping centre," I told him. He nodded and drove me there, and when I arrived I handed him my card as payment. It worked no problem. "Thanks very much." I stepped out and rubbed the plastic thoughtfully, thinking of where to start spending.

And boy did, I spend. Very easy to do in London, but hey that's life. First stop was laptop. I needed a laptop desperately. It would be so much easier to order certain things online then in person. That set me back a bit, but a necessary expenditure. I chose only the best laptop with maximum capabilities and security. Might as well.

On the way to my next destination I withdrew some cash, just as a precaution in case I needed it.

Next was clothing. Oh how I love Mark's and Spencer's. Lots of new clothing, free from vintage musk. New underwear, shirts, shoes, and lots of pants. No shirts or dresses. Simply not practical what with all the running and murders. I mean, what pretentious twat would go to a crime scene wearing high heels? Dumbasses. Armed with my purchases I made it back home, staggering in and laying the purchases across my couch. First order of business was to hire someone to clean out the mold. Second, a bed. Third, preferably small fridge, then some food.

In fact my stomach growled at that moment. I groaned. I didn't want to go out, but I did need food. Unless... that's right! I had a phone! Fuck leaving my flat, I could call for takeout and have my problem solved in like ten minutes. I dug out my phone and looked at it. It was nice, new, scratch free, touch screen. I bet it had internet. I switched it on and was greeted by a new message upon start up. I opened the text.

_I expect frequent updates_

_Mycroft Holmes_

I pulled an ugly face upon reading that (which is basically just my usual face). Dear god he was a prick. Tapping the internet application I searched for a suitable Chinese food takeout and saved the number in my phone for future reference. Then I gave them a call and placed an order. They said they would be there in twenty minutes. Ugh. Twenty minutes was a bit long, but they looked a bit more upscale then your average takeout restaurant so I let it pass. But how to pass the time was my real problem. I needed something fun, something challenging. My fingers itched as I looked through my contacts. There was Mycroft, the Chinese place, and of course Sherlock. Did I dare? Well, you know me. Can hardly resist the temptation.

_Why did the chicken cross the road?_

_HR_

I pressed 'send' and immediately giggled. I felt like I was pranking him or something, which is actually ridiculous since I'm sure he wasn't even paying attention to his phone. Rude that. Not even checking. I mean, what if I was trapped in the trunk of an old car and this my only means of communication? It would certainly mean I'd be shortly dead, no thanks to him. So I began sending more out of spite, giggling as I did so.

Sherlock had solved the case not too long ago, and was examining the evidence once again. Every so often his phone would 'ding' ever so annoyingly. Sherlock ignored it.

John could not. "That's probably your brother," he said in irritation.

"So what if it is?" He replied, staring at the wall nearly lost in thought.

"What if it's relevant to the case?" John asked seriously. "You could be missing out on vital information."

Sherlock sighed. "If it was of dire importance, then he would call. As it is, even if it was of trivial importance my refusal to respond would have him sending any pertinent news your way, as a human proxy. No, he most likely just wants to know how I'm getting on. Which as I am not getting on, I defer to the proverbial cold shoulder." A couple seconds later it dinged once more.

John got up. "Alright, I've had enough." He picked up Sherlock's phone and started reading. After a while he started laughing.

Sherlock looked at him, trying to hide his disdainful curiosity. "What's so funny?"

"Well, none of these are from your brother I can tell you that." He looked at a few more texts and laughed again. "But I give her credit, these are good."

Sherlock took the phone from John and scrolled through the deluge of messages.

_Why did the chicken cross the road?_

_HR_

Sherlock scoffed. So childish. He read the one after that.

_To get to the other side! Haha aren't I a comic genius?_

_HR_

His lip curled in frustration.

_But guess what Sherly? It isn't the other side. It's the other other side. The chicken tried to commit suicide! See? It's funny!_

_HR_

From there on the texts got even sillier and sillier until they were almost incoherent. John looked at him expectantly. Sherlock scowled. "I find these not the least bit humorous. In fact they trouble me more then anything."

"What, because she made some stupid jokes? Hardly the work of a criminal mastermind."

"John, you fail to see the meaning behind these texts," Sherlock said. "Why repeated texts? Why text me at all? Where did she get a phone? Clearly this is a call for attention. She wants me to know she has a phone. She wants me to connect these dots. You don't give her enough credit John. She is good, just not good enough. I'll find out her endgame."

"Or do you think that maybe she's just bored and texting you is her way of just entertainment?" John joked.

"I'm serious," Sherlock said, looking down at his phone. "I think this is something to be worried about."

John considered for a moment. "Okay Sherlock, I'll take you seriously. What are you thinking about right now?"

"I'm trying to make out whether or not she's in league with Moriarty," he said. "Ideally I'd like to observe her closely, but I don't want her interfering with the puzzles either. She might be under orders to misdirect me so that I end up losing the round, or she might just be an extra set of eyes, simply there to observe how I work and report back. That's why she has the phone. She's goading me. Ooh, how conniving!" He turned to his friend. "Did she say anything odd to you, anything at all?"

John tilted his head to the side. "Well, she did say right after we left Mycroft's that she was about to spend a lot of money. Seemed a bit weird. I thought she had none, what with the job hunt and all."

Sherlock's grimaced. "Are you sure it was right after you went to Mycroft's?"

"Pretty damn sure. After she has a private talk with him, she near shoved me in a taxi so she could go off and shop on her own. Why, do you think..."

"Yes, I think that exactly," Sherlock replied. "Oh, and here I was hoping I'd found her true motives at last." He typed a reply, visibly irritated. "What nonsense. I should have come to this conclusion earlier. Of course she's not some spy. How stupid. I could grind my teeth to nothing with sheer frustration."

John suppressed an eye roll. "Why don't you tell me how you really feel about the situation? Jesus Christ."

I sat with my Chinese food and laptop, eating vegetable lo mein whilst ordering some necessities. There was this website that had local resale items, so I bought myself a bed to be delivered first thing in the morning. Having funds to spend stuff on was a lot more fun then I had originally thought.

Ding!

I smirked as I bent down to check my phone. He had finally cracked. I must have annoyed him enough to-

_How much is he paying you?_

_SH_

Well wasn't he straight to the point. Jeez, no joke back? Heck I would've taken his insults I was so bored.

_You'll have to be more specific. Really Sherlock, texting with such vague inquiries just doesn't seem like something you'd do. I'm slightly disappointed._

_HR_

That ought to get him typing in a hurry. And indeed, it was only seconds before I got another ding.

_Your disappointment is inconsequential. How much is Mycroft paying you?_

_SH_

John watched in amusement as his friend grew bitter and more frustrated with each text that passed. Sherlock took to pacing the floor, plotting out what he would send before he even received a reply. His phone dinged and he read the text quickly.

_Do you mean how much is Mycroft paying me to think he's a dick? Well frankly that service is free. I'd think him a dick no matter what the circumstance._

_HR_

"Just answer the damn question!" Sherlock shouted. John began laughing as he updated his blog. "What's so funny?" He asked, whipping around to look at him.

His friend smirked. "You're getting so worked up over these texts when the woman literally lives downstairs. Do you see where I'm going with Sherlock? Sherlock?" He looked up to find himself alone. A satisfied smile spread from ear to ear. "That sounds like a fun date. Arguing over whether she's being payed by your brother to spy on you."

I say by myself, waiting for his response, when my door was flung open and he stepped in. "Well Sherlock, isn't this an unlovely surprise. Please, do make yourself uncomfortable. I could get you a glass of vinegar, if you'd like?" I smiled serenely, utterly bemused by his irritation.

"My brother is paying you to spy on me," Sherlock said.

"Congratulations Sherlock," I said. "You've just stated something that we obviously both know to be the truth! What will you say next? Perhaps something along the lines of 'the sky is blue' and 'I am a dick'. Truly, the world would be lost without such gems of language. I bow to you good sir." I made a mock bow from my seat.

"How much is he paying you to spy on me?"

"Well, it is you. You are insufferable, not to mention arrogant, stubborn, relentless, impatient, cynical, sociopathic... It would have to be sufficient pay to keep me on after all that. Plus exposure to you does increase the chances of my dying prematurely. So, I guess my total allowance is somewhere between more then enough for myself and more then enough for three people. Don't worry, I plan on sharing." I searched the web, expecting him to say something. After a few minutes I looked up to see him standing there. "Anything else?" For once, he left without uttering a single word. And I laughed myself a good joke in that I got this time.

Five minutes later I got a text.

_I'll expect the next few meals that you pick up the tab, since you were so keen on sharing. Good night._

_SH_

* * *

And goodnight readers. I'm so tired! If you're wondering why this took so long, it's cuz I have a life (seems impossible I know) and shit happens and so does my new job that's really really REALLY long hours so unless I get a shit ton reviews I'm spending my extra time sleeping. I love you all all very very very very much. Happy Independence Day, or as my dad calls it, just another day. Peace out!


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

_Ring ring!_

I opened my eyes blearily. My night had been spent ordering various items and supplies, with premium shipping of course. Part of my back ached as I sat up, hair messy and clothes rumpled.

_Ring ring!_

Someone was actually ringing the doorbell. Must be the bed I ordered. Anyone else would have just barged in. I stood up and went outside to greet them. It was two men, carrying several pieces of a bed and a mattress. I led them in and they put the pieces in the bedroom, but that's where they stopped. Apparently they didn't do setup. Shit. I didn't want to do it. Well, it's not as if I needed to sleep in it right right away. But when I did, I would need sheets. And a pillow. And some lamps. And maybe some decor. The place was a little lacklustre. Maybe some plants would make it nicer...

I changed my clothes and ran a brush through my hair so I could look more presentable, then left my flat. I wondered if Sherlock and John were up yet. I went upstairs and knocked on the door.

"Not now Helen," I heard Sherlock say. "I still don't want you in here."

"Aww, come on Sherlock," I whined. "I'm not working for anyone except your brother and even then it's not like I'm keeping the money for myself. When I said I'd share I meant it. It's not like I'm gonna tell Mycroft the full truth anyway." He didn't respond. My ear pressed against the door. "Sherlock?" It suddenly opened I fell over as he stepped out of the way. "You could have caught me," I said irritably.

"Then I would have missed seeing that lovely face you made when you hit the floor," he said.

I looked up at him. "You're an ass."

"Yes, you have told me this before. And yet you seemingly come back for more. How curious." He offered his hand to help me stand back up. I took it gratefully. "This repeated exposure by your will seems to indicate masochistic tendencies."

"And your pleasure from these encounters would indicate sadistic tendencies," I countered.

"How do you know it's pleasure?" Sherlock asked with narrowed eyes.

I laughed. "Of course it's pleasure. If it wasn't you wouldn't let me hang around at all." He began laughing with me, and it was a nice moment. I wasn't being overly cryptic, and he wasn't being overly douchey. I noticed he had his coat and scarf on, and must be preparing to leave. "Are you going out?"

John appeared from around the corner, fiddling with his sleeve. "Yeah, we were going to..." He trailed off as he looked at us, or more specifically, our hands. Sherlock was still holding mine, and I was still letting him. I quickly withdrew it, brushing my palm on my shirt.

"Scotland Yard," Sherlock finished, putting his own hand in his pocket. "I wanted to speak to Lestrade."

"Oooh, can I come?" I asked. "I'll pay for the cab!"

Sherlock and John simultaneously said "no"and "yes" respectively, then glanced at each other.

"Sherlock," John began.

"No, I don't want her to come," he replied. "Out of all the places those shoes could have been they were in her flat and I think that says something."

"It's not like I put them there!" I told him. "They just happened to appear there after we left. Hell, Mycroft can tell you that. He was the last person out of my flat before you received the bloody picture on that phone and then walked in. I was with you the entire time, completely unable to have put them there myself."

"Sherlock, how about we let her pay, but not come inside?" John said. "That way she knows we're there and can report to Mycroft, but can't hear what we're talking about." Sherlock was silenced by this, not seeing a logical way to protest this.

"Sounds good to me," I said.

And twenty minutes later I dropped them off at Scotland Yard, with a promise from John that he would text me the location of wherever they went in case Mycroft wanted to know, provided that I pay for dinner that night.

But in the mean time, I needed sheets. And food. And I really wanted some plants. So I went to a couple stores and started buying stuff, when suddenly I got a text.

_What is Sherlock up to now?_

_Mycroft Holmes_

My grocery bag tumbled out of my hands. Aww shit. Why did Mycroft have to text me? I didn't wanna talk to his pale ass right then. I grabbed up some apples and ready made sammiches and set them on the floor by the cheese section. I replied back as quickly as possible.

_He's presently berating me for my childish behaviour._

_HR_

That seemed plausible. I mean, I do act childish from time to time, so at the very least it was in the realm of possibility. Last time John had texted me they were at a crime scene, and Sherlock specifically requested his brother not know he was putting off the other case. I grabbed a couple cheeses and a baguette when I got another text. I took my phone out again and read it.

_Really? It looks like you're out shopping actually. By the way, you might want to put that baguette back. It looks stale._

_Mycroft Holmes_

Holy shit he was staring at me. Fucking creep. I looked around and found a security cam directed solely at my every move. In protest I flipped it off, but did end up putting the baguette back and choosing another. Well, I guess I should have expected this. He did keep tabs on his brother quite closely, but I didn't think he'd keep close track of me too. Not much I could do about it at this point, except fess up. Honesty always is the best policy after all.

_Thanks for the tip. My apologies, but Sherlock doesn't want me around and I've been having trouble convincing him otherwise._

_HR_

It was mere seconds when I received a reply.

_How is that my problem? I'm paying you for a service, not excuses. If he doesn't trust you it's your job to make him trust you._

_Mycroft Holmes_

Man is he just a great big bag of dicks!

_Well excuse me Mr. Fancypants, but I don't think you should be lecturing me about getting your brother's trust when you can't even get it yourself._

_HR_

I went to the register and paid for my groceries, then went right in to a department store in search of sheets. They had a good selection, and I figured I should buy a couple different sets just in case. It was a while before I got a response back from Mycroft.

_That may be true, but it's not my job to keep an eye on Sherlock now is it? And don't get the flower pattern, it's won't fit with your colour scheme._

_Mycroft Holmes_

I "ugh"ed audibly at that point, prompting some stares from other customers. Smiling nervously, my fingers texted him back at an absolute furious pace.

_What are you, my mom? Fine, I'll try harder. But I do have free will you know, and there were some things I needed to get for myself. John's texting me his location at all times so it's not as if I'm not aware of where he is. Just because I'm watching him for you doesn't mean I need to be glued to him._

_HR_

I bought the flower pattern anyway, just to spite him. En route home I found a little plant shop and bought myself some fern type looking plant that the lady said would last all year round as long as it was watered properly. Mycroft had messaged me back, but I ignored it while I unloaded my purchase and unpacked some boxes that had arrived. I was rather proud of what I had scraped together, and for some reason the fern really worked for me. I might go back and get more... But in the meantime I finally opened his text.

_I know John is texting you. In fact I can see all texts that come or go from your phone. I'll let your lack of attentiveness slide this time, but I expect better work ethic in the future. On the subject of your mother, you wouldn't perhaps be willing to divulge her maiden name now would you?_

_Mycroft Holmes_

That little shit had the gall to ask my mother's maiden name! Jeez, it's like nothing was sacred to him.

_Go to hell._

_HR_

He didn't text me back after that. I sighed and appraised my humble (actually much less then humble) abode. I had a couch, a side table, my laptop, a fern, bed sheets, a random assortment of new and vintage clothing, and a disassembled bed that I had no desire to put together as of yet. Inside the boxes that had arrived were a mini fridge, a set of plastic dish ware including plates, cups, forks, spoons, and knives, a small lamp, and another box that I didn't order. Inside was a smallish alarm clock. Must've been delivered by mistake. Oh well, it was mine now.

I glanced at my phone and saw more messages, all from John, updating me on Sherlock's current whereabouts. The last one said he was at St. Bart's running some kind of test. I wanted to text him everything he'd found out today and tell him all the answers, but I wasn't sure if that was a good idea. Promoting my foreknowledge was basically like waving the French flag whilst eating a croissant with the words 'works with Moriarty' written on it in chocolate. Although to be fair by the time Sherlock got a good look at the croissant most of it would probably be eaten. Eaten by me. Shit, now I wanted a croissant. I blame Sherlock.

Well, I thought, maybe if I don't tell him but simply make observations, then let him jump to conclusions. That way he gets the answer, I don't seem as suspicious, and yet I still can lord over him the fact that he only made the conclusion because of me.

_So Sherlock, John said you went to Janus Cars. Isn't that a god with like, two faces or some shit like that?_

_HR_

Yes this was a brilliant plan. My phone made a noise.

_I just received a phone call from the bomber telling me the clue is in the name. Either Moriarty hired a complete idiot or you're just a complete idiot with bad timing_

_SH_

That dickhead! I wasn't even going to bother texting him, no sir, I was going to resort straight to the phone call. I pressed call and waited for a moment, drumming my fingertips on a nearby surface. I heard him pick up.

"Hello?" He said calmly.

"I am not an idiot Sherlock Holmes!" I spat at him.

"Curious," he muttered.

"What's curious you grand master of douchebaggery?"

"I thought for certain the first thing you would say to me would be some form of protest in regards to my repeated assertion that you are in league with Moriarty. Instead you have elected to denying your true nature," I let out a 'hey' at this point, "and have thus ignored my attempt to expose you. All this I classify as curious." He paused for a moment, so I jumped in.

"Well of course I've taken to ignoring you about that, and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future."

"Why?" He asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" He didn't respond. "Nothing I have said thus far has convinced you otherwise to my allegiances, so why bother? It's just wasted breath. Besides, if I am the idiot you so rudely judged me as, I'm sure the truth will come out soon enough." I waited for a few moments until...

"Alright," he said. "I believe you. For now."

"Wait, what? No, Sherlock-"

"No no Helen, believe me when I say that I have no trouble imagining Moriarty shuddering at the very thought of hiring someone like you."

"Hey now, what's that supposed to me-"

"I'm almost finished here. I just have to clear some things with Lestrade and then you're paying for dinner. It's takeout tonight. See you later." And then he hung up on me.

That bastard hung up on me!

* * *

Oh dear lord I finally got it done! And it's not midnight for once! I suppose miracles happen once in a while (if you belieeeveee!).

Well right now I'm on vacation, but don't worry. It just means I have extra time to write! Actually at the moment I'm in Maine. It's kinda been a wish of mine to meet the people who read my ramblings, so if you live near Rockland, Maine, maybe we can meet up at a cafe or something. I dunno, PM me if interested and nearby. But if under 18, clear it with your parents okay? I don't want them thinking I'm some creeper.

Anyway I love you all so so so much and I look forward until next time!


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